Inexplicably Parental
by Demus
Summary: Arthur has been feeling strangely ill for the past fortnight and he's worried. But when he and Ford go to a suspiciously orange medic, they discover something they never would have conceived! Contains slash and unnatural biological happenings
1. Unexplained sickness

Disclaimer: I do not own HHGTTG. And because of this Mr Adams will be spinning in his grave.

Dedication: For Les Lapins Mauvais and banana flavoured dragon.

Warnings- slash and unnatural biological happenings.

* * *

Somewhere in a large and ungainly Universe, these things happened. They ignored the fact that it was impossible for them to happen. Time and Space has had a lot of things screwing around with it, these events won't affect it in the least.

Arthur sighed as he lay comfortably in the Relaxation Suite, a damp cloth on his forehead and a cool drink within easy reach. His hands were crossed over his roiling stomach and he was trying to focus on the soothing music being played very softly in the background. It wasn't helping. For the past fortnight he'd been waking up with wretched nausea and a pounding headache, the former of which was so severe that he was forced to dash to the bathroom to avoid puking his guts all over the bedroom. He would feel like death warmed up, chewed, spat out, warmed up again and stamped on until late morning, when he would make a complete recovery.

Needless to say he was more than a little worried. The sicknesses on Earth had been bad enough, he really didn't want to get some vicious Galactic disease. Ford had been performing various 'medical examinations' on him, but since these 'examinations' involved nakedness and the copious use of warm oils Arthur doubted their usefulness in diagnosing his problem. Still, they had been very enjoyable all the same.

He absently rubbed a hand on his sore stomach, trying to resist the urge to curl up and die. He suspected Ford would be very angry with him if he died suddenly and didn't bother leaving a note for anyone. His lover was off somewhere booking an appointment with one of the few doctors left in the Universe who dealt with actual illness rather than the distribution of fake ones. The human sighed and reached for the drink, sipping at it. He had been lucky enough to acquire a low-alcohol beverage that, when very cold, tasted not unlike iced tea. He had tried in vain to find an alcohol-free version but it seemed such things didn't exist.

Arthur relaxed a little as the not-unpleasant feeling of the cool liquid trickling down his throat distracted his attention from his queasiness. Quiet moments like this had become increasingly rare in his regrettably action-packed new life and he wasn't going to waste a second of it. He was just drifting off into a light doze when he heard footsteps outside and a tentative knock on the door. He sighed again. Well, it was nice while it lasted. "Come in!" he called, wondering why whoever it was didn't just barge in like they all usually did.

The Earthman smiled and sat up as his Betelgeusian lover entered the room, then winced as the quick action set his nausea off again. Ford hurried over and carefully pushed him back into the sloped back of the deskchair-esque recliner. "Bad Arthur. Sit!" the shorter man teased.

Arthur groaned. "Suddenly I'm not so happy to see you," he murmured, his smile belying the truth of his words.

Ford smirked and leaned in to press an exaggeratedly sloppy smooch against Arthur's cheek, earning him a giggle and a half-hearted thump from the human. He stroked a wayward hair back from Arthur's forehead, discreetly checking his temperature- it was a little higher than normal.

"Well?" Arthur said, batting his hand away. "You've already started your customary check up so I'm assuming you didn't find anyone to help."

"Arthur, Arthur, Arthur. What have I told you about making assumptions?"

"As far as I can recall, you said 'it makes an ass out of you and mumptions'."

"Yes, well, the point is you're wrong. I have found somewhat to help. A Dr Fastinslotbarter."

Arthur blinked. "Any relation to Slartibartfast?"

"You know, its funny you should say that…" Ford paused for a moment, his eyes becoming distant as he thought. Arthur quickly became impatient with his musings and abruptly kissed him, which was always a successful (if time-consuming) way of distracting Ford's attention. And of making himself forget about his illness. Unfortunately, this method and its subsequent happenings had the side effect of making them rather late for their doctor's appointment.

Not that they cared.

* * *

Dr Fastinslotbarter couldn't help but smile as he glanced at his most recent patients through the window adjacent to the waiting room. They'd both been interviewed, checked, scanned and had samples taken from them (all of which showed very high recent hormone levels in both males). A completely incompatible mix of species, and they were so close it was cute. Currently the Betelgeusian (obviously the dominant one, the doctor decided) was unashamedly petting his ape-descendent partner. The human had been rather alarmed by some of the more…devoted nurses and their practice of feeling up everything that came their way. It had unnerved him a little and his sweetheart was now determinedly cuddling the Earthman and shooting death glares at any uniformed person unlucky enough to walk past. 

Luckily for the nurses the pair had been tested separately- Dr Fastinslotbarter had lots of experience with Betelgeusians and he hated to have to re-attach his staffs' arms after close encounters with the possessive race.

The doctor glanced away as the senior nurse squelched in and stretched out a tentacle to take the completed analysis. He checked it through briefly, then felt his skin turn a more vibrant shade of orange as pleasure diffused through him. How he loved it when something like this happened. He assumed a professional face, feeling anticipation welling up inside. "Show them in please, Cradge," he said, straightening in his seat.

The sluglike nurse did as she was instructed then left the room, evidently on her way to spread the news to her colleagues. The doctor smiled warmly as the couple entered, gesturing them to the comfy consultation chairs with his third and fourth limbs. They sat, the Betelgeusian unconsciously taking his partner's hand in a comforting grip.

"Mr Prefect, Mr Dent, I have just received your reports back and you will be pleased to know that as far as we can see, your systems are perfectly healthy."

"Well, that's a relief!" interrupted Prefect, squeezing the human's hand. Mr Dent frowned in confusion.

"But what about my symptoms?" he asked.

Fastinslotbarter placed his first and second arm-joints on his desk, leaning forwards a little. "Well Mr Dent, I have some excellent news for you. Aside from a minor cancer we found in your digestive system, there appears to be nothing wrong with you. Of course, we cleared that little blighter up as soon as we found it."

The human surprisingly did not look reassured by this comment. "I have cancer?"

"No, no," the doctor replied, airily. "As I said, we've completely cleared that up for you. No, something else was causing your illness. Mr Prefect, Mr Dent, may I be the first to congratulate you!"

They both shook his appendages, looking nonplussed. "Erm…why?" the Earthman questioned.

The doctor's smile widened. "Because, Mr Dent, you are going to have a baby!"

The human blinked. Then blinked again. Then hit the floor with a thump as he fainted dead away.

"Ah," Fastinslotbarter remarked, turning to the equally shocked Ford Prefect, who looked as though he'd been turned to stone (a not uncommon occurrence). "I take it this is an unexpected pregnancy then?"

* * *

Gah! I know! An mpreg! It's disgusting! But seriously, who doesn't want to see what sort of child Ford and Arthur would produce? May take a while to update this. Intelligent flames are welcome- however, if you want to flame saying, "WTF! U R A BITCH! YUCK!" please sod off elsewhere. 

Thanks for reading.


	2. Suddenly explained

Disclaimer- I do not own HHGTTG

To my dear, lovely reviewers- thank you so much for your support. My endless gratitude to: Rowana S, HurriCanine, Kayu Silver, Lar-lar, AnonGirl88, Taryn Wander'r, Eileen, spirals, KentouKurige, shipchan and Les Lapins Mauvais.

And for those of you who asked, this story takes precedent over BJB, but I have a few plotbunnies pending for it, so fear not!

Bit of a raunchy chapter this- nothing graphic, but it gets a bit smutty during the flashback. Be warned.

Dedication- for Les Lapins Mauvais and banana flavoured dragon.

* * *

Baby. Pregnant. 

Baby. Arthur.

Arthur. Pregnant.

Baby. Arthur. Pregnant.

Pregnant. Arthur. Baby.

Ford looked down at his fainted (pregnant!) lover, who had been moved to the psychologist's couch in the corner. His head was resting in Ford's lap and the Betelgeusian was stroking his hair gently, trying to sort his thoughts out. Arthur was pregnant. With his child. No, wait a minute, too much. Go back. Arthur was pregnant. Arthur was going to have a baby. Okay, so far so good. Arthur was carrying his child. Belgium.

The Betelgeusian sighed and looked up as Dr Fastinslotbarter slid into the room. He was carrying three large glasses and an electronic notepad. He pulled up a chair and passed one of the glasses to Ford, who gulped at it gratefully, feeling the warming alcohol burn into his stomach. The doctor settled the other two on the floor and poised to start writing, extending a tentacle to touch Arthur's forehead. He nodded satisfactorily and looked up at Ford.

"So, you had no idea that this was going to happen?"

"None whatsoever."

"And by your partner's reaction, neither did he. Well, it's a biological impossibility for it to have happened naturally. Even taking into account your different genetics, impregnation would only have occurred if he were a human female. He hasn't ever been female has he?"

Ford raised an eyebrow, his hand pausing in its stroking motion.

"I'll take that as a no then," Dr Fastinslotbarter said, scribbling onto his pad. "Well, from the blood samples we took, we've established that impregnation occurred recently, within the last few weeks at least, and it occurred at a time of very high emotional stress. Can you recall any strange incidents with Mr Dent in the past few weeks? Anything that struck you as being extremely odd or out of the ordinary?"

"Doctor, you could define my entire life with the phrase 'out of the ordinary'."

"Well then, has Mr Dent been behaving differently? I'm trying to pin down the moment of conception, Mr Prefect. This will help me deduce how the pregnancy occurred and then how it can be dealt with."

Ford thought for a moment, pushing the concept of fatherhood to the back of his mind where it would be safely out of reach and wouldn't cause him to pass out like his lover. "Actually, now you mention it, something did happen about three weeks ago. It was really odd. We'd been on a typical night out and we got in…"

* * *

FLASHBACK 

They staggered in, arms around each others' shoulders, their lips locked in a full-blown kiss. They were both hovering on the boundary between tipsy and pissed, that delicately judged point where you can't quite think straight but the twists and turns of the bedroom hold no mysteries for you. Ford pulled back from the kiss to grin manically at Arthur as he furiously worked open the human's shirt. Aforementioned human very obligingly returned the favour and Ford slammed him into the wall, kissing him again as their bare chests met, sending electric thrills through both of them.

Arthur moaned and his hands came up to grasp Ford's back, slipping on the taut skin. He strained against the shorter man's hold on him and, with a clever duck and swerve, managed to reverse their positions. It was now Ford's turn to moan as his lover quickly targeted the many erogenous zones on his neck and shoulders with his talented mouth, his hands massaging desperately into Ford's chest.

The Betelgeusian grabbed Arthur's wrists, halting his movements and looked into his eyes as the Earthman glanced at him. "Bed," Ford growled. Arthur nodded and they made their way to the big double bed.

The first time that night was hot and fast and brutal. It was the collision of rampant urges, thrusting sweaty violent lusts combining in a firing conflagration of brutal desires. It was strong and urgent and desperately ardent.

The second time was much slower. Tired now, they took their time to explore each other in long, slow, passionate sharing. They were fulfilling each other in a way that couldn't be matched by any other. For that time, they were one- indulgent and romantic, eye to eye, the contact of warm sweat-slick skin, and the sound of their heavy breathing. Their gazes burned into one another as they rediscovered a mingling of consciousness, burning together a fervent flame of deliberate ardour.

After the heat of their lovemaking, they lay side by side in the semi-darkness. Ford grinned, feeling bonelessly satisfied, and reached out for his lover. The human resisted his embrace and moved away from Ford into a sitting position. He pulled his knees up to his chest and hugged them, hunching over with his back to his partner. Ford was confused. This was the time for weary snuggling up together and meaningless talk in each other's arms as they both resisted sleep for the rest of the night.

"Arthur?" he said, questioningly, his hand stretching over to caress the hot flesh of Arthur's back. The human shuddered as the tickle-touch fingers followed the curve of his back and traced the bony ridges of his spine. Ford's hand moved from his back to wrap around his arm, tugging at him to lie down. Arthur turned at his entreaty and leaned over him to stare into Ford's peculiar eyes.

"I need you," he rasped, hoarsely.

Ford blinked, unusually. "What?"

Arthur made a whining noise in the back of his throat and leaned further down so his cheek rested against Ford's, his mouth next the Betelgeusian's ear. "I _need_ you," he repeated, punctuating his words with a quick movement that left him straddling Ford's stomach.

The other man gaped up at him. "But we just…twice…Exhausted…"

"Please!" the human pleaded, resting his hands either side of Ford's head as he moved back. He shifted his hips and Ford felt the heat of his need.

"We can't…We just did…Arthur, are you alright?"

The human's face was flushed and his breaths were coming in quick gasping pants. He ducked his head to Ford's chest and began to work the heated flesh with his lips and tongue. "I just…really need you, Ford."

And, amazingly, what should have been impossible after the first two times actually happened. For the third time that night, they touched that strange plane of existence where pleasure and pain become the one thing and all boundaries between two people are dissolved in the final ecstasy of climax.

Arthur collapsed onto Ford's chest, his body heaving as he sucked in air. Ford wrapped weak arms around him. Did they really…? Had they actually…?

They lay in silence, locked together, the only sound their ragged breathing as they fought to get air into lungs that had clearly had enough of that sort of arsing around for one night. Ford wondered if he'd ever be able to move again.

After a while, Ford became aware of a warm wetness seeping onto his cooling skin. He cocked his head and looked down at the dark-haired head nestled into his neck, his arms tightening around his lover as tears splashed from tightly-closed grey eyes. The suddenly vulnerable seeming form began to quake and shiver in Ford's grip and Arthur pressed closer into the Betelgeusian's body, still straddled across his hips with his hands clenched in the sheets. The human began to weep desperately, an almost hysterical outpouring of convulsive emotion.

Ford just held him tightly, wondering what the hell was going on, his brow furrowed in worry.

"I'm sorry," Arthur sobbed, overcome with mental and physical exhaustion. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I can't bear it, I can't…"

The Betelgeusian shushed him gently, burying a hand in his hair just holding him as his body was wracked with sobs. As the flow began to come to a halt, Ford carefully eased Arthur off him and onto his side. "Now," he whispered, facing the distraught human and cupping his cheek in his hand. "What's all this about?"

Arthur sniffed miserably and his eyes closed tiredly as he leaned into Ford's hand. The Betelgeusian used a corner of the bedsheets to wipe away some of the tears, waiting patiently for him to reply. Completely drained, Arthur let himself be comforted. Eventually, red-rimmed eyes opened and looked into electric-blue orbs. Ford gasped at the heartbreak in them, automatically moving closer to his lover.

"I can't bear it anymore, Ford," Arthur whispered, his voice breaking with emotion. "It hurts to hold it in…"

"What?"

"I…I love you Ford. I'm sorry, please don't leave me," The Englishman buried his head in Ford's shoulder, snuffling helplessly.

The Betelgeusian was shocked. Arthur loved him? The Earthman was actually, really in love with him. Sure, they'd been sleeping together but this…He grinned his widest, most manic grin. "I love you too, you stupid prat," he said, lifting Arthur's head so he could look him in the eye. "Now go to sleep, you ridiculous monkey. I'm not going anywhere."

END FLASHBACK

* * *

Ford finished his narrative and looked the doctor in the eye. "We've never really discussed it," he shrugged. "But it was so odd- I haven't thought about it but…" 

Fastinslotbarter nodded thoughtfully. "Hmm, yes. Extreme emotion, unusual sexual stamina, professions of love, nausea, headaches and a fragile mental state. Yes, I think I know what's been used on your partner."

"What?"

"An experimental treatment- Superbaby Miracle Fertility Treatment."

"Super-what?"

* * *

_The __'Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy' says this about fertility treatments-_

"_Due to the expansion of interstellar travel and the immense amount of interspecies mingling, it soon became apparent that more and more people were choosing mates from a different species and genetic background rather than the boring ordinary specimens found on their home worlds. In order to in any way increase the overall galactic population, it was therefore necessary to develop a new branch of medical science dealing with impregnation for interspecies couples/triples/quadruples/etc. Thus, the field of Multi-Xeno-Sexuality was born (pardon the pun). _

_Many breakthroughs have been made in the field, after some rather disastrous experiments and embarrassing mix ups (involving three hundred mothers and one rather disgruntled father to name but one case). The latest development has been that of 'Superbaby Miracle Fertility Treatment- One good brew and you're three months overdue!'. This treatment is a vast improvement over previous ones as the 'mother' only needs one operation- a Caesarean section at the moment of birth. He/she does not have to faff around having wombs implanted/taken away or having to have major organs removed to allow for the developing foetus." _

* * *

More about Superbaby Miracle Fertility Treatment next chapter! 


	3. Sriataer, how to tell you?

Again, my thanks go out to my lovely and extremely prompt reviewers: Yit-ha (you have yourself a deal), Kayu Silver (maybe one day Multi-XenoSexuality will exist?), HurriCanine (mwahahaha, to which story will you be the most faithful?), Rowana S (thank you!), Lar-lar (hooked eh? I hope it doesn't become a habit!), Les Lapins Mauvais (I'm glad you like- it is dedicated to you after all), spirals (I want your babies, lets get some SMFT), banana flavoured dragon (oh hell, I want yours as well- are you up for a threesome?) and AnonGirl88 (oh, you'll have to wait to find out!)

Whew. Lots of replies. But yes, boring explain-y chapter now. Hope you can bear it. Also appearing in this chapter, the word _sriataer_, which is Betelgeusian word meaning life partner, soul bonded person, one true love, all that jazz.

Dedication: for Les Lapins Mauvais and banana flavoured dragon

Disclaimer- not mine. Did Arthur and Ford shag in the canon? Well, yes, we just didn't see it. (nudge nudge, wink wink)

* * *

"Superbaby Miracle Fertility Treatment?" Ford said, disbelieving. 

"Yes. It has the effect of increasing the levels of certain hormones in the body. Once stimulated, the taker of the drug becomes almost insatiably desperate for their sexual partner- as you witnessed with Mr Dent. The treatment works by mixing the genetic strains of both parents to create the zygote, which will then follow the typical growth process for the carrier organism."

"So it will be like a typical human pregnancy?"

The doctor nodded. "The drug adapts to each user- that's why it's becoming so popular. The carrier needs little or no adaptation of anatomy in order to experience the pregnancy. But the gestation period is a lot shorter- for this case I estimate between three to six months. I'll have to do a few calculations to be sure."

"But…Arthur doesn't have a womb? Where's the foetus going to go? Is he going to keep it in a box?" Ford asked, feeling an eerie sensation of déjà vu.

Fastinslotbarter chuckled amiably. "Of course not. At the peak of the drug's cycle-the moment when the zygote is formed- it generates a sort of cushioned alternate reality within the body. A little pocket, if you will, of hyperspace contained in the abdomen of the impregnated being. The zygote will implant in the 'womb' and grow as normal, feeding off the parent and affecting the usual changes. When the time comes for the birth, it's a simple matter of performing a normal C-section and the 'womb' dissipates when the child is removed."

Ford felt overwhelmed, and a little queasy. "C-section? As in cutting him open?" He glanced down at the passed-out human. "I have no idea how I'm going to explain this to him," he confessed. "I don't even know if he'll want to go through with it." That thought filled him with dread- already his child was starting to grow in his lover's body. His child.

"I don't think you need to worry," the doctor said, patting his shoulder reassuringly. "If your partner's emotional state made him unfit for the pregnancy, it simply wouldn't have happened."

"The drug again?"

"Indeed. It's an amazing thing- I believe its inventor now owns three galaxies."

The Betelgeusian cocked an eyebrow. "I thought you said it was experimental?"

"Mr Prefect, there are thousands of species in the Universe. We're hardly likely to have tested the drug with every combination of partners. Don't worry- I myself am a fully qualified Multi-Xeno-Sexologist. Your _sriataer_ is in safe hands."

"How did you-"

"Know he was your _sriataer_? Simple. You growl at me whenever I get within a two foot radius of him whilst he's unconscious."

Ford blushed and the doctor let out a hearty laugh. "No need to worry, I don't think I'm a threat to your relationship, somehow."

"Wait a minute," Ford's brow furrowed. "You said the drug causes a fragile mental state and extreme emotion, right? So, what Arthur said on that night, those feelings- were they just the result of some chemical in his system?"

Dr Fastinslotbarter didn't reply. Ford's heart sank. It wasn't real? Those feelings, those words- they were meaningless? But Arthur was his _sriataer_, his one love, his life-partner…

A sunrise smile dawned on the doctor's face. "SMFT can do many things Mr Prefect- it can create a womb, fertilise any gender of any species and allow people the ultimate of joys in a relationship. One thing it can't do is create a false emotion. If those words were said with love, than they were the truth. The drug just…pushes things on a little. But there is one thing worrying me, Mr Prefect-"

"Call me Ford," breathed a very relieved Ford Prefect.

"Very well, Ford. If neither of you has heard of this drug before, and neither of you has even considered the possibility of having a child, how did Mr Dent take a dose of the treatment?"

"You think someone else did it deliberately?" The Betelgeusian frowned. "Someone did it to…attack Arthur, or something?"

Fastinslotbarter shrugged, which is difficult when you have four arms and no neck. "It may be something you'll want to look into. Ah," he cried, suddenly. "He's waking up- I'll leave to two of you alone. Just press that button if you need me." With a final encouraging smile, the doctor left.

Ford looked down again at the human who was lying across his lap. The peaceful features contracted and Arthur shifted on the couch, taking in a sharp breath as he came back to consciousness. The Betelgeusian smiled warmly as his partner looked up at him. "Hello again," he murmured.

Arthur blinked a couple of times and sat up, shaking his head a little as if to get water out of his ears. "Erm…Ford, what the hell just happened? I can remember coming into the room- we sat down over there- then, nothing."

An arm wrapped around him from behind and Ford shifted to rest his chin on the Earthman's shoulders. "I've got something to tell you," he stated. "And I know for a fact that it's going to shock you. Because it already has. You remember that time you asked me if we needed to use contraception because as far as you were concerned I was a freaky alien being with an overactive sex drive and practically anything could happen?"

"Yes," Arthur replied, snuggling backwards into the embrace. "As I recall, you said 'Don't be stupid, Arthur, of course we can't get each other pregnant!' It wasn't that reassuring to be honest- its hard to believe someone who's just jumped on you and is about to molest you in the middle of a shopping centre."

"Well," Ford said, his voice very deliberate and weighty. "It appears that I was wrong."

"What? You're pregnant! This is terrible!"

Ford felt his hopes of Arthur accepting the child flounder at this reaction. "No, not me. You." The Betelgeusian braced himself for a scream and another fainting fit. Nothing happened.

Arthur had gone very still. His breathing sounded a little heavier than usual. "I…I'm pregnant?"

"Yes."

"Pregnant as in 'going to have a baby' pregnant?"

"That is the sort of pregnant I mean, yes."

"It's not some strange hitchhiker word I don't know meaning 'very annoying' or 'terminally ill' or anything like that?"

Ford sighed. "No, Arthur. When I say pregnant I mean as in there is child growing inside you."

"Oh." Arthur drew his arms around his body and hugged his midriff, ducking his head to rest his chin on his chest. They sat in silence, neither of the moving, staying close.

"Do you think you're okay?" the Betelgeusian ventured after a moment of awkward quiet had passed with all the stealth of a purple dragon with scurvy.

The human didn't answer. Ford felt Arthur's shoulders shudder under his arms and he gently turned the human's head to look into his face, shocked to see tears start pouring from grey eyes.

"Arthur?" he gasped, horrified. Surely it wasn't that bad?

His lover snuffled and lunged for him, burying himself in Ford's arms. "I'm going to have a baby," Arthur sobbed. "I'm going to be a Dad, Ford!"

Ford gazed down at Arthur, who lifted his head to reveal a look of the utmost delight and astonishment. "Our child," the Earthman whispered, overcome. "I'm carrying our child. Oh Ford, I never thought this would be possible."

"So you- you're happy?" the shorter man asked, hardly daring to believe.

Arthur laughed and squeezed Ford tighter to him. "Of course I'm happy, you bloody idiot. We're going to have a baby!"

Eavesdropping outside the door, Dr Fastinslotbarter grinned as he heard the unmistakable ululating yell of a Betelgeusian celebratory call and a human yelp of surprise. Something told him that this particular incompatible couple was in for a very interesting time.

* * *

Not the typical Arthur reaction, but that's how I honestly think he would feel. After all, they're in lurve and he's very hormonal. We can have hysterics and yelling later on. Mwahaha! 


	4. In Which Everyone Cops A Feel

Chapter rattled off quickly at the request of the dedicatee, so everyone thank Les Lapins Mauvais.

Thank you readers and especially reviewers: Kayu Silver (you really don't have any patience…), Rowana S, KentouKurige, spirals (enjoy London), HurriCanine (hugs), Lar-lar, dragonSpired48, Yit-ha, Faye Maxina Snape, Eileen, jellyjam rabbit, LLM and 13x.

Dedication: For Les Lapins Mauvais and banana flavoured dragon, with much hope of an upcoming orgy.

* * *

Through the streets of an alien planet, a happy couple are wandering. They have all the time in the world- time to laugh with each other, time to dance over the cobbles, time to smile and gaze into each other's eyes. They are in love, they are invincible, and one of them has just waltzed straight into Arthur Dent. 

The human staggered sideways as the alien hit him and grabbed the wall quickly to prevent himself from falling. The alien had no such luck and landed heavily on the hard floor, where the cobbles didn't seem quite as romantic as they had. Its partner hurriedly knelt next to it and cupped its long jaw/face, whispering endearments.

Ford ignored them, wrapping an arm around Arthur and mothering him ridiculously. He took the human's hands in his, checking them for scrapes and gently stroked them. Arthur looked a bit bewildered at this overly zealous protectiveness, but played along anyway. The other oblivious couple seemed equally as distracted by each other, until Ford decided to remember just how his (to his mind) pregnant and therefore very delicate lover had ended up clutching desperately to the wall to stay upright.

The Betelgeusian whirled with a snarl and advanced on the two aliens, his curly hair standing on end. "What the photon do you think you're doing?" he growled, his feet stomping so hard into the ground that they almost cracked the hard surface. "Well?" he hissed, when no answer was forthcoming.

The larger of the aliens, the female, stood and bowed. "My sincerest apologies," she said sibilantly, her forked tongue flicking as she bent to lift her mate. She extended a scaly paw, her tail flicking to show her anguish. "We have just discovered that our nest of eggs is about the hatch, after a seventy-five year gestation period."

_

* * *

The 'Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy', being detailed, extensive and full of useless information, has this to say about pregnancy:_

"_Should be avoided at all costs."_

_With a bit of thumping, the Guide will reluctantly give its reader the following information:_

"_Pregnancy is a complicated thing."_

_If a determined hitchhiker then proceeds to jump up and down on the book and scream obscenities at it, the book will seem to sigh and will concede to spew forth the following:_

"_The vast array of different species in the Galaxy, being increased all the time due to interspecies breeding thanks to advances in Multi-Xeno-Sexuality, means that what happens during pregnancy varies greatly from being to being. For example, the Giranians have a gestation period of six days, during which the fertilised zygote will experience rapid expansion inside the mother's body and then explode out of the stomach of the mother with the force of a Vogon De-constructor Beam. Needless to say, not many Giranian males ever get the chance to mate with a Giranian female, as the probability of this resulting in pregnancy is 100 percent. _

_On the other end of the scale is the lizard-like race of the Crolligators. These extraordinary creatures, due to a catastrophic genetic mix-up, have a gestation period of more than fifty years. The female, having laid up to three hundred eggs, will bury them in a secure plot of land and wait it out with her mate. This means that the news of the hatching of the eggs causes great excitement and life insurance firms on the Crolligators' home planet largely deal in the distribution and guarding of land for nest sites. It also means that Crolligator land developers have a hell of a time trying to do any sort of building work on the planet and hence have been forced to travel far far afield to make any sort of money whatsoever. Crolligator-built homes are some of the best in the Galaxy as a direct result of this."_

_ The Guide continues to sell well despite these entries  
_

* * *

Ford's face immediately broke into his normal manic grin and he shook the creature warmly by the claw. "Oh, forgive me, I had no idea. Congratulations! We've just had similar news ourselves, haven't we Arthur?" The Betelgeusian dragged the human forwards and wrapped an arm around his waist. Arthur just nodded, by now used to the fact that Ford was going to do and say things that he didn't deem appropriate. 

The Crolligator bowed again. "May I?" she asked.

"Of course!" Ford replied, off-hand. He squeezed his hand tighter about Arthur's middle. The human was just about to protest when the large crocodilian quadruped placed two mauve paws on Arthur's belly. Grey eyes widened and the human let out an indignant squeak, which achieved little. The Crolligator massaged the soft flesh under its paws for a moment then stepped back. She smiled a very toothy smile, nodded her goodbye and left, taking the male's claws in her own as she did so.

Arthur spluttered and turned to Ford, who was waving at the departing lizard creatures. "Ford!" the Earthman exclaimed, feeling violated and outraged. "I am not some kind of possession to be fondled at will by passing strangers!"

"Why not? I'm allowed to show you off aren't I?" Ford sounded confused.

"Well, yes, but just…less touchy-feely. That thing had its…hand on my stomach!"

"That's where the baby's growing," Ford said, as if he was talking to a child. "And anyway, that was a Crolligator- they have very bad eyesight and rely almost entirely on smell and touch to live."

"But…"

"Besides," the Betelgeusian purred, coming closer to Arthur and slinging his arms around the human's neck. "I thought you liked being touchy-feely."

Arthur swallowed dryly. "Erm…Ah…" he stammered, uselessly.

Ford chuckled and kissed him. "Come on," he said, pulling back and taking Arthur's hand. "We have to break the news to the others!"

* * *

Zaphod was amusing himself by asking Trillian random astrophysics questions and turning her answers into innuendoes. It was a particularly single-minded person, Trillian decided, who could turn 'Its something to do with neutron ratios' into an invitation for sex. She was impressed, but she didn't show it. She just directed scathing looks at the two-headed Betelgeusian and smiled to herself when he responded with his damnably irresistible grin. If he carried on much longer, she was going to have to molest him. It was probably what he was planning on. 

She was just readying herself to pounce when Ford and Arthur breezed in, looking strangely happy and, rarely for them, not actually in each other's pants. Zaphod ignored them and waggled his eyebrows suggestively at Trillian, who shot him a warning look.

"Well? Did you find out what was wrong?" she asked as Ford guided Arthur to a chair then stood behind him, placing possessive hands on the Earthman's shoulders. Arthur looked pleasantly surprised by the considerate treatment. Usually he was left to flutter in Ford's tailwind (not that he minded) but it was nice to be treated like glass rather than rubber.

"Yes, yes we did," the Englishman said, realising he'd better actually answer the question.

"And?"

"You don't want to know," came a very gloomy voice from the corner of the room. "I bet it's absolutely ghastly."

Ford bristled. "No, Marvin, its good. We have the most wonderful news."

"Sounds terrible."

Trillian sighed exasperatedly. "Oh forget him, you know what he's like!"

Marvin slumped forwards dejectedly in his corner, where he had been diligently trying to rust. "Oh yes, forget me. No one ever thinks about me. It's so depressing. Sometimes I want to cry, but I haven't got tear ducts and even if I had I wouldn't cry because its just so useless and time-wasting- Oh God, I'm depressed."

"Shut up Marvin! Now, what's this wonderful news?"

Ford drew himself up to his full (not very impressive) height and beamed. "Arthur's going to have a baby!"

There was silence. Then a spluttering noise as Zaphod choked on his mid-afternoon Janx Spirit top-up. "The _Monkey's_ pregnant!" he cried, looking wildly from Ford to Arthur.

"Emphasis on the wrong word, Zaph," Trillian muttered, her mind reeling.

The two-headed man stopped and thought. "The Monkey's _pregnant_!" he yelped, looking wildly from Ford to Arthur.

"Better," the Earthwoman said.

Arthur looked a bit put out by their reaction. "Erm…yes. Yes I am."

Trillian rallied magnificently and went over to congratulate them, hugging them both. "Oh congratulations you two, this is really excellent, I'm so happy for you! It's amazing, isn't it guys?" she added, turning to glare pointedly at Zaphod.

"Oh yes, spiffing," came a sarcasm-laden voice from the corner. "Even more pathetic life forms to toil over day in day out. I'm practically dancing for joy. The spawn of a monkey and a carnivore…"

The voice stopped abruptly. Marvin considered his new position. He was suddenly lying flat on the floor with a very angry Ford Prefect sat on top of him, holding a rusty kitchen knife poised over the delicate circuitry of his neck. The Betelgeusian was rumbling a thunder-like growl in the back of his throat and an animalistic fury was burning in normally serene blue eyes.

"Obviously, by that I meant that it's the best thing I've ever heard," the robot concluded, a note of panic creeping in to his otherwise lifeless voice.

"Yes, I thought that's what you meant," Ford's voice had the ringing echo of steel sharpening every word. He put the kitchen knife back in his satchel and clambered off the robot.

Zaphod, seeming to pull himself out of his shock, stood and snapped his fingers. "Hey, this calls for a proper celebration! Drinks all round! Marvin!"

With alarming alacrity, the robot stood and zoomed out of the room, returning speedily with a tray laden with drinks, vol-au-vents and cheesy biscuits. The Paranoid Android was quick to move out of Ford's space as he dashed around with the tray. The Betelgeusian grinned. Life was good. He sauntered back over to Arthur and wrapped himself around the Englishman, his hand sneaking down to caress Arthur's stomach. The human sighed. "I'm going to get this for the next four months aren't I?"

"Yep!"

Trillian joined them, placing her own hand over the much-discussed area. "I would say that's a dead-cert, mate," she smiled teasingly.

Arthur groaned.

Ford purred approvingly, then shot a death glare at Zaphod as the two-headed man approached with his hand outstretched and a gleeful gleam in his eyes. "Don't you dare!" he warned his semi-cousin.

"Aw, come on man, everyone else copped a feel!"

Arthur groaned again and raised a glass to his lips, only to have it dashed out of his hand. He looked askance at Ford, whose face had taken on the worried, conscientious mothering expression again. "You can't drink now Arthur! You might harm the baby!"

The human placed a hand over his eyes. It was times like this when he was stood pregnant in the middle of a spaceship with two hands on his stomach and a lecherous relative of his lover eyeing him up opportunistically that he really wished he'd listened to what his mother had told him when he was young. Then again, she probably wouldn't have had much to say about this sort of thing. It wasn't done to talk about sex and babies and things.

And it certainly wasn't done to talk about interspecies sex and alien babies.


	5. The Joy of Early Pregnancy

Thank you: HurriCanine, WildTotodile, LLM, Kayu Silver, Lar-lar, Rowana S, Yit-ha, creativewritinginc, AnonGirl88, Eileen and Artemis Rowen (x2)

Disclaimer- not mine.

Again, dashed off quickly because of LLM. And so the story moves on. We are now one or two weeks on from the last chapter and Arthur is five weeks into his term. His term is 20 weeks, half that of a normal human pregnancy. Now, on we go.

Dedication: for Les Lapins Mauvais and banana flavoured dragon

* * *

"AND FOR THE LAST BLOODY TIME, NO I DO NOT WANT TO SUCK YOUR TOWEL!" 

Ford Prefect hit the wall with a crash as he was thrown from his bedroom. He looked up dazedly as the door was slammed shut and blinked, trying to clear his head. He checked that none of his ribs were broken, then checked to make sure his towel was in one piece. Once all of these essentials were checked, he tentatively tapped on the door. "Arthur? Sweetheart?"

"ZARK OFF!"

Undeterred, Ford tapped on the door again. "You've got to calm down, this isn't good for the baby. The towel would have helped…"

There was a loud smash and the door juddered under his hand as something very heavy bounced off it. "Don't strain yourself!" the Betelgeusian yelped, panicked. "Throw something a bit lighter!"

"LEAVE ME ALONE!"

"Come on, Arthur, let's talk about this…"

"_Talk_ about it? What's there to talk about? I feel like shit, my head hurts, I feel sick, the room is spinning, my nose is blocked, I can't eat anything without throwing up or getting indigestion and to top it off I've got spots breaking out!"

Ford leaned his shoulder against the white wall, settling himself for a long stay. "See, don't you feel better now we're discussing your issues as a couple?" he said, brightly.

"You don't understand!" There was a slightly hysterical edge to Arthur's voice now. "Just go away and leave me alone."

Ford heard a heavy sniff from the other side of the door and the quiet snuffly noises of someone trying to hold back tears. He sighed. "I'll come back later. Try and get some sleep, okay?" There was no reply. He sighed again and trudged off down the corridor.

When he reached Trillian's room he knocked on the door and went in. The dark-haired woman took one look at his face and hurried over to him, ushering him into a chair and pushing a whisky and soda into his hand. He took a grateful sip and rubbed a hand over his eyes. "Somehow," he said, thoughtfully. "Somehow I felt it would be easier than this."

The Earthwoman smiled sympathetically and patted his knee. "Listen Ford, he doesn't mean any of the things he's said. He's just depressed and hormonal, and depressed because he's hormonal and hormonally depressed. Trust me, I'm a woman. I know how this works."

"But I lived on Earth for fifteen years! I've met pregnant Earthwomen, none of them were like that!" the Betelgeusian complained, gesturing with his glass before taking another fortifying gulp.

Trillian shook her head. "You never see pregnant women out of doors until the second trimester, when everything's settled down a bit. If they're let outdoors before then they have to be gagged, bound, unconscious or under police escort. And you've got to remember; his term's only 20 weeks. Not only is he getting his first batch of these hormones, they'll also at a double dose. Its just a bit too much right now."

Ford looked up at her from under his wayward curls, peering out like a scolded child. "But he won't even talk to me," he whined, piteously.

"Poor Ford," she crooned, patting his knee again. "Are you sure there wasn't anything specific to set him off?"

The Betelgeusian blushed. "Erm…"

The patting hand stopped. "Yes?" Trillian urged, her tone hardening a little.

"Well he's been so tense and everything, I just suggested that maybe, maybe we should do something relaxing together."

Trillian groaned. "You didn't offer to have sex with him did you?"

"So what if I did?" Ford said, a touch defensively. "It's enjoyable and relaxing and he's usually up for it at times of great stress."

"Enjoyable and relaxing? The man is pregnant! At this moment in time he feels like a 200-year-old shipwreck, barnacles and all! Do you really think he's going to be up for it when he thinks he has the sex appeal of a Vogon in a meat grinder!" the woman shrieked, incredulous.

"I offered to use jam…"

"JAM! JAM! A sugar-filled sticky red condiment? _That's_ what you offered him? Ford, Arthur can't hold down water, let alone jam!"

"But he wouldn't be the one…"

The Earthwoman groaned again. "I can't believe you- he's nearly five weeks pregnant- ten weeks if you count it normally! You haven't had sex for week and you're as hopeless as…as…as a terminally hopeless thing from the planet No-Hope!"

Ford frowned. "That wasn't the most delicate metaphor was it? And its not like we haven't been…you know…intimate…And anyway, you're supposed to be sympathetic- if I'd wanted shouting and abuse I would have gone to Marvin."

Trillian stared at the hurt alien and took a deep breath. "It's not that I don't sympathise- I do. Of course I do. But you have to understand that-"

"Ford?" came a soft, uncertain voice from the doorway. They both turned to see Arthur, wrapped up in a blanket, standing in the doorway. His eyes were shadowed with weariness and red-rimmed with tears. He seemed to be shivering, though it wasn't cold at all. The human sniffed miserably, and reached out the hand that wasn't clutching the sheets. Ford leapt up and hurried to his lover, taking the pale hand and clasping it to his chest.

"I'm sorry," Arthur whispered, his head bowed. "I…"

"Shh, s'okay. Its hard work, making a baby," Ford interrupted, tenderly lifting his head so they were looking into each other's eyes. "I just don't want you to get worked up."

"I know. And I _am_ sorry. You were only trying to help- but I'm so tired, and I feel bloody awful."

Ford took the human into his arms. "It's alright, _sriataer_. Come on, let's get you into bed."

Trillian smiled as the couple left, oblivious of her presence. She followed them out to watch them make their slow way down the corridor. As they disappeared round the corner she had to repress the Aw that boiled up in her throat. She was just going back into her room when she heard a loud thump and a shriek of anger. She looked up to see Ford haring down the hall, an expression of pure fear on his face.

"HOW DARE YOU FORD PREFECT!"

"What did you do now?" Trillian shouted after the Betelgeusian.

Arthur's voice resonated again through the ship, giving her the answer. "THERE IS NO WAY IN HELL THAT I AM GOING NEAR THAT JAM!"


	6. Booze and Monsoons

ATTENTION PLEASE, READERS! If true Ford/Arthur slashwhores you are, you must read Les Lapins Mauvais's new fic 'Love, the Universe and Tomato Sauce' because it rocks like a ton of boulders. Leave her a lovely review telling her what a genius she is worships LLM madly

So, the pimping over with, I must give my warmest thanks to: Eileen, Kayu Silver, HurriCanine, Rowana S, LLM, AnonGirl88, Tomiko the Muse, Lar-lar and NicoleFelton (did you like chpt 2?).

Dedicated to Les Lapins Mauvais and banana flavoured dragon (happy birthday again!)

* * *

To say that Arthur was a little worried would be comparable to saying that Zaphod Beeblebrox's dress sense was a little out of the ordinary. It was six weeks into his pregnancy, he was feeling a bit better than he had been recently, his abdomen had pooched out a bit and he was still being treated like he was made of glass. And his Betelgeusian lover had been acting very stra…even more strangely. Ford had started muttering to himself under his breath as he walked along the corridors, flinching at loud noises and assuming a very tense, slightly petrified and exceedingly manic expression whenever Arthur entered the room. 

And the human was pretty sure he hadn't been to a bar for three weeks.

_

* * *

The 'Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy' has many and varied entries on alcohol. They usually detail the best bars in which to buy a given drink, how many glasses of said drink it is safe to consume and approximately how long a hitchhiker should stay in bed the day after exceeding the specified safety guidelines. However, one little-read section explains the attitude of the Betelgeusian race to alcohol:_

"_Absolutely essential to the continuation of existence. Any Betelgeusians wishing to travel the Universe for less than thirty Alterian dollars a day must be careful to carry around an emergency supply of liquor on their person. In the quite likely event of them being banned from any and all bars on a planet, hey will then be able to avert death until they find a pilot willing to take them somewhere with more liberal moral codes. _

_If a Betelgeusian does not consume the correct amount of brain-meltingly strong alcohol per Galactic Standard week, he/she/tye may suffer hallucinations, softening of aggressive tendencies, inclination towards the use of net curtains and/or a sudden and horrifyingly painful death. Disaster may be averted by the continuous and energetic application of oral sex, but this method is not to be undertaken lightly."_

* * *

The human took a deep breath and started down the hall, hoping to find his lover blissfully engaged with a bottle of Scotch. Alas, it was not to be. The Betelgeusian was having an animated discussion with the Gravitan-64, the gravity-inducing component made especially for use with the Improbability Drive. It was a contrary machine that, through no fault of its own, had at one point been repaired with circuits from Marvin. It hence had schizophrenic tendencies and multiple personalities and constantly flitted between buoyantly gleeful and miserably depressed. But that fact is irrelevant, and should not have been included- the person responsible for its inclusion wishes it to know that they have just been shot.

Ford looked up from his one-sided debate with the machine (which was incapable of speech in any way, shape or form) and his face took on the fixed, strained expression of a badly constipated person who is suffering from haemorrhoids whilst simultaneously listening to banjo music and also trying to convince the world at large that he is perfectly fine. Even Arthur wasn't fooled. "Ford, what is wrong?" he asked sharply, his arms akimbo.

"NothingIsWrongWhyWouldYouThinkAnythingIsWrongI'mAbsolutelyFineYesireeNoProblemsHereI'mQuiteAlrightThankYouVeryMuchYesIndeedHaHaHa!" Ford paused and reviewed his last, well, word. "Erm…I don't suppose you could ignore what I just said and let my try again?"

Arthur blinked at him, then plodded over to sink down next to his lover. "Honestly Ford, what's the matter with you? Why've you been acting so od…so much more oddly recently?"

"It's another…erm…species thing. Like the jealousy thing. Erm…"

"Yes?" the human pressed, encouragingly.

"Look, do you promise you won't be mad?"

"Yes."

"Or shout at me?"

"I will not shout at you."

"Or do that horrible thing where your voice goes up several octaves?"

"I swear to you that I will not react in that particular way."

"Right I'll tell…wait!" Ford's eyes narrowed. "You're not going to throw something at me are you?"

Arthur repressed a growl and deliberately reminded himself that he quite liked Ford and that lots of anger and stress was probably bad for the baby and that he did not want to be a single parent in this particular Universe, thank you very much. "I will not, in any way, cause any mental, physical, spiritual or inter-dimensional harm to you following your reasons," the human ground out, his teeth scraping over one another. "Just get on with it!"

"I'm suffering from alcohol withdrawal." Ford hung his head and gazed fixedly at his hands.

"Alcohol…"

"Withdrawal. Yes. But don't you worry about me, Arthur, you've got to keep…"

"Why," said Arthur, his tone deceptively pleasant and conversational. "Did you not inform me of this fact, dearest one?"

Ford noted that the human was breathing rather rapidly and his hands were clenching and unclenching in a threatening way. "Well, you can't drink, so I didn't think you'd want to go to a bar with me, and it's no fun without you around to torme…talk to."

"Fine. Fine. That's perfectly fine," Arthur said, his voice steely. He was having a hard time not breaking his promises. "So now that I'm pregnant we can't go out at all, is that it?"

The Betelgeusian looked up sharply. "No, no..."

"Oh, I get it- the monkey's a bit preoccupied growing another person inside it, so no one's allowed to drink. Pregnant people can't go into the outside world and have fun, is that what you're saying?"

"No, I'd never…"

"Ford Prefect, if we don't go to the nearest bar right this instant, I am going to yell at you with my voice in top C minor whilst simultaneously throwing lampshades at you! And I don't care that there are no lampshades on this ship!"

"Yes, dear."

* * *

Once in the bar, it only took three minutes for Ford to get utterly plastered. He grinned happily at his seventeenth drink, his eyes following the dancing neon orange bubbles that skipped crazily through. Then he downed it in one go, hiccuped, and ordered another one. He was drunk and life was now good. 

He didn't bother to move when something large ducked behind him and clutched onto his jacket.

"Whassamarrer?" he slurred, unhelpfully.

Arthur was beginning to regret this plan. "Ford," he hissed, urgently. "That-that thing over there has a fetish for pregnant humanoid males!"

The Betelgeusian blinked very very slowly at him before taking a gulp of his eighteenth drink. "There's no' m'ny preggos in 'ere 's there?" he hazarded, tripping clumsily over the complicated syllables.

"Why do you think I'm so worried?" the human shot back. "Do the grin or the growly thing, that usually puts people off!"

"Yes, dear."

* * *

When they eventually got back to the ship, after a surprisingly good night out (even Arthur enjoyed it, despite the fact he wasn't drinking- Ford was even more charming when he was pissed out of his skull) they immediately went to bed. Ford curled around his lover, drowsily purring as he did whenever he was warm, comfortable, sated or amused. "'nks, Arthur," he murmured as he slipped into the arms of Morpheus. 

The human looked down at him. "Don't mention it," he replied, his arm around his lover. When was it, he wondered, that he'd started falling for this man? This person who was so opposite to him in almost every way? At what point had he started to seem a little bit more than a friend?

* * *

FLASHBACK 

Arthur looked out of his kitchen window whilst he waited for the kettle to boil and shivered. Torrential rain bucketed down from a thrashing turmoil of angry black clouds. Jagged snake-tongues of lightning hissed across the sky, ripping through the whirling black canvas. The threatening rumble of thunder seemed to be an almost constant undertone, ever present in the sphere of his perception. The human sighed as he brewed his tea. It might not be a Thursday, but someone in the heavens was having a bloody awful day.

He was so engrossed in the spectacle of Nature's fury that he almost missed the sound of the doorbell. He frowned- who would be out in this weather? It was either a terminally-dedicated postman with a large parcel or a bloke come to demolish the house, he thought, flippantly. He hurried to the door, some instinct telling him that it probably wasn't a psychotic axe murderer- even they were inside huddled around a cup of cocoa. He opened the door, braced for an axe in the neck anyway.

Huddled under the slight overhang above his door, pale and shaking, stood Ford Prefect. The thick curly hair was plastered to his head and he peered up at Arthur with large desperate eyes. His hands were clutching his ever-present satchel to his chest and his entire form looked even skinnier than usual as he was lashed by the elements. Arthur gaped at him for the minutest of moments before dragging him into the house and slamming the door shut.

Once they were both inside, Arthur took stock of his friend. Ford didn't look to be in that state of drunkenness that was usual for one of his visits to Arthur's home. He was unashamedly gushing on the rug (that amount of water could never be described as a 'drip') and his posture was hunched and stiff. His weird blue eyes scanned the hall wildly, as if he was searching for exits, before fixing on Arthur's.

"Arthur?" he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'm lost."

The Englishman felt a wave of homesickness bludgeon its way through his mind like a particularly determined old woman through a Customer Service Department. His friend looked like a drenched puppy- far too wet, all eyes and helplessness, shivering and uncertain. Arthur reached out to pull the sodden satchel out of his hands and help him out of the soaked jacket.

"Come on, you daft sod," he said as Ford wordlessly complied with the treatment. "Let's get you warmed up."

They made their way to the spare bedroom, Arthur hastily grabbing his largest towel and a bathrobe so Ford could change out of his wet clothes. As the unexpected arrival did so, the Englishman ran a hot bath and brewed up some more tea. When he got back to the room, carrying a mug of very sweet tea and a change of clothes (and only marginally covered in bath foam), Arthur couldn't help but grin at the sight that met his eyes. Ford was ridiculously swamped in the ratty plaid dressing gown, sniffing pathetically as his cold-stiff hands fumbled with the towel.

"Ford?"

The man looked up, childishly peering out from under his flattened fringe, causing Arthur's grin to widen involuntarily. "Your bath's ready and I got some spare clothes out for you."

"Cheers." Ford took the bundle and the tea and trudged down the hall to the bathroom, leaving Arthur to puzzle over his friend's sudden appearance in the storm and the strange words he'd said when he came in. What had he meant by 'I'm lost'?

After about three quaters of an hour, Arthur was sat in his living room quietly reading and trying to ignore the raging tempest that was going on outside when Ford trudged in. He looked a lot healthier than he had before- he was dry, his colour was better and there was a slight suggestion of a smile adorning his face rather than the forlorn misery that had been there before. The shorter man dropped his bunch of wet clothes on the floor and plopped onto the couch. Arthur was amused to see that he had pulled on the dressing gown over his clothes and was still huddling the towel.

"I take it you're feeling a bit better then?" he asked, setting his book aside.

Ford grinned lopsidedly. "You could say that," he replied, absent-mindedly stroking the large green towel.

"Ford, what is it with you and towels anyway?" Arthur questioned, fascinated.

The hand paused in its movements and Ford blushed. "Oh, er…" he moved to drop the towel on top of the pile.

Arthur chuckled. "Oh keep it, if you like it so much."

"It's a good towel. I could fight off a few Giranians with this," his friend said, again cuddling the green material.

"Whatever you say, mate."

"No, really! A towel is the most useful thing you can have with you if you're a hitchhiker…"

They sat and talked, Ford relating far-fetched, unrealistic tales to his appreciative and disbelieving audience. Arthur was a good person to tell stories to- he laughed in all the right places and didn't try to interrupt until the very end. Of course, being an enlightened and practical soul, he didn't believe a word of it.

"You are one weird bloke, you know that Ford," he laughed, after one particularly peculiar tale.

Ford grinned and winked at him. "Intergalactic travel will do that to a man," he said, entirely seriously.

Arthur nudged him with his shoulder. "So, moving on from your 'outer space experiences', what brings an out of work actor to my house in the middle of a raging typhoon with no coat, no umbrella and absolutely no waterproofing whatsoever? You weren't looking for spaceships again were you?"

The shorter man slumped, turning away from Arthur. His gaze went downwards, fixing once again on his hands. "I…got caught in the storm," he mumbled, hesitantly.

"But what were you doing wandering around in the first place on a day like this? The Met Office has been issuing warnings all day!"

Ford's eyes flicked briefly to his satchel. He sighed heavily, looking dejected. "I got a call, something I had to check out. It wasn't real though. Just a blip in the…" he tailed off.

Arthur's brow was furrowed in confusion. He was about to press Ford further when he caught a quick pleading glance from his friend, who looked as though he was about to burst into tears. Another inexplicable fist of homesickness battered its way into Arthur's consciousness. Abruptly, for reasons he couldn't quite fathom, Arthur felt the urge to put an arm round Ford, as if to shield him from his sadness. After a moment's hesitation he did so, surprised to feel no awkwardness at the closeness. Ford stiffened briefly then relaxed, leaning into his taller friend, accepting what was offered.

"Thanks, man," he murmured. Arthur squeezed his grip a bit tighter in response. Ford slowly let his head drop to rest on Arthur's chest. "Home," he breathed, too quietly for Arthur to hear.

They stayed like that for some time, before a unanimous unspoken decision to part. Arthur made his way upstairs to change for bed, knowing that Ford would head for the spare bedroom. It had been a strange moment they'd shared- silent simple contact. He'd never seen Ford so vulnerable, so…not blasé, not bouncing with eccentric energy. Peel back the layers of someone you've known and find something you'd never have suspected was there. It was something worth looking into, if only to learn more about the man who, despite their four years friendship, was almost a stranger.

Something to think about…

END FLASHBACK

Arthur smiled. Something to think about indeed.

* * *

Oh, I do not like this chapter. Grrr. Stupid not-writing-properly brain! 


	7. Betelgeusian Parenting

Thank you: Rowana S, Kayu Silver, spirals, HurriCanine, Tinuviel3, AnonGirl88, Yit-ha, Les Lapins Mauvais (thank YOU for your pimping), TheDarkBladePrince, Eileen, anne onymous, Lar-lar, Cengela, banana flavoured dragon (x4), LyranStar and Mithril Maiden

Dedicated to Les Lapins Mauvais (hugs) and banana flavoured dragon (cuddles)

Week Seven- the ending was a little rushed, sorry. I have to be off the computer in about three minutes

* * *

Zaphod Beeblebrox was a happy guy. He was feeling particularly cool that day, no one had complained about his shades recently, the ship's atmosphere was relaxed and hoopy and his semi-cousin had stopped bitching now that he was getting sensibly drunk every evening. Even Marvin had been keeping quiet, but that was probably because they'd accidentally left him at a pit stop whilst they refuelled. Ah well, he'd show up sooner or later. He always did. No matter what they tried. 

The two-headed Betelgeusian sipped at his drink, leaning back in his deckchair to enjoy the fake sunshine that Eddie was projecting into the Meteorological Simulating Relaxation Suite™. They'd even managed to stop the Monkey whining about...well, everything.

* * *

Trillian smiled dreamily at Arthur, feeling all maternal and girly- something astrophysicists are never meant to feel. Because most of them are pervy old men. She checked the chart that the Englishman had procured from Dr Fastinslotbarter. "Yes, you're right. Second trimester. Welcome back to life, Arthur." 

They clinked their glasses of non-alcoholic water (a surprisingly rare commodity in the Universe). "According to this," the woman continued, after taking a quick swallow, "you're uterus is the size of a grapefruit."

Arthur's eyes welled up. "A grapefruit!" He sniffed. "That's so beautiful." He put down his glass, feeling a little overcome with emotion.

Ford wandered in, half-crouched with his hands raised defensively over his head, as was his custom these days when around a very hormonal Arthur. "What's going on?" he asked, nervously. "I heard tears welling up somewhere."

_(It must be noted here that for Ford to have heard tears welling up in Arthur's eyes, even with his super-sensitive hearing, is impossible. We find it necessary to remind readers of such things, just in case they believed it was plausible. Ford is, of course, lying. And anyway, they weren't particularly loud tears. On a scale of one to ten…)_

The Earthman turned overbright, wet eyes on his lover, and said one of the oddest things a human male has ever said. "My uterus is like a grapefruit!" Arthur exclaimed, before bursting into happy tears.

Ford frowned, puzzled. "Orange and squishy with dimples on the outside and pips? What kind of freak child are we producing here?"

"Well, considering it comes from the bizarre and somewhat disgusting union of obviously incompatible species," Trillian remarked, dryly. "A grapefruit is one of the least weird things you could expect." The Earthwoman, having regained her normal, slightly sarky demeanour on the arrival of a non-pregnant entity, decided to leave. "I have…some business to attend to," she said, pecking the blubbing Arthur on the cheek before strutting out of the room.

"If you and Zaphod are going to shag, do you think you could close the door this time?" Ford called after her. "Only I don't think my eyeballs could stand the scarring if they saw…that again." The Betelgeusian moved to sit next to his lover. "So what's this about orange fruit?" he asked as he snuck a hand down to stroke Arthur's belly.

The human partially recovered, blew his nose and smiled damply. "Our baby," he replied, relishing the words, "has grown to the size of grapefruit."

Ford grinned in an automatic 'proud Betelgeusian father' response. "Excellent!" He leaned in close to Arthur's stomach. "Keep going, mate!" he called, softly, to his developing child. Arthur thwapped him affectionately, making no move to remove the warm hand from his skin.

"You know," the human said carefully, "it's been a while since…"

But Ford would never know what his lover was about to say, because at precisely that moment the ship gave an alarming judder and there was a loud thud and two yelps from the Meteorological Simulating Relaxation Suite™. Arthur cursed imaginatively in Ursarian (a language he was slowly picking up from Ford). Ford glanced at him in momentary surprise before standing to address the computer.

"Eddie? What the photon's going on?" he asked, with an admirable steely politeness.

"Uh, I'm afraid I don't know, fella. Would you like me to sing a song whilst you wait for my processors to come up with the answer?"

"I'd rather hacksaw my own leg off and feed it to an angry Bugblatter Beast as I simultaneously attempted to tap-dance on hot coals smothered in lemon juice," the Betelgeusian replied, deadpan. He was completely serious.

"Well, whatever floats your boat. Just remember that I am here to make everything in your life so much better!"

Arthur groaned. "I don't suppose you could see your way to killing Zaphod could you?"

"No, but I could make you a Spanish omelette."

"Never mind."

At that point, the subject of Arthur's attempted murder burst into the room, fully-trousered but lacking in a shirt. "Hey guys, what's happening?"

Ford snorted. "I have no idea, oh brave and intelligent captain. Perhaps you'd like me to get on the Sub-Etha waveband and ask God if he knows."

Arthur couldn't repress a smirk- it seemed the sarcasm lessons were finally sinking in. Zaphod, however, seemed not to notice.

"Hey, great idea man! I'll just…"

Whatever the two-headed man had been about to say was thankfully lost for all time as Eddie uncharacteristically interrupted with his very characteristic chirpy tones. "Hold on a minute guys! I'm getting a reading- we've been hit by a Materno-Matic Super-Recall Device from the Betelgeuse system!"

* * *

_The most popular suppository for all Galactic knowledge does not like to advertise robotics, cybernetics or any form of technology whatsoever. In fact, the book adopts a thoroughly derisive tone whenever it mentions anybody who has anything to do with the development of so called 'convenience engineering'. This is why the 'Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy' receives no funding from the Sirius Cybernetics Corporation._

_Despite this stigma on the behalf of the publishing companies of Ursa Minor, there are many innovations in the field of convenience engineering that have greatly assisted many beings in the Galaxy. By far the most widely-used and hence most feared invention is the Materno-Matic Super-Recall Device. This clever bit of gadgetry was designed by an exasperated Snoooklemother whose son kept 'forgetting' to visit her on her birthdays._

_The device, which can be launched from any standard rocket port, can detect any sentient being in the known (and quite a lot of the unknown) Universe. It will attach itself either to the target or the target's mode of transport and unceremoniously drag them to the point of launch. This way, no offspring will ever be able to miss a family reunion ever again. There has been much debate on whether this is good or bad. Popular consensus is that whatever your mother wants, its wise to give her. Lumpy gravy is a revenge they are prepared to inflict upon even the most adored child._

* * *

Ford looked up sharply at the computer's words. "A Materno-Matic? Who sent it?" 

Zaphod looked askance at him. "Well it's obviously one of yours. Mine are so much less clingy than yours."

"Is that so, Mr 'I-Can't-Take-You-With-Me-Cos-Mums-Say-You're-A-Bad-Influence'?"

"That was one of yours."

Ford frowned, then his expression cleared. "Oh yeah. Well, she had a point. You were the one who taught me how to pick locks and safely steal radioactive fuel."

"Man, you knew what you were getting yourself into."

"Zaph, I was eight!"

At this point, Arthur thought it prudent to interrupt. "What's a-"

"It's something mothers use to keep track of their kids," Ford answered, before he'd reached the middle of his enquiry.

The human thought about this for a minute. "So what does that mean for us?"

"It means," Ford said, weighing every word carefully, "that you are going to meet my mothers!"

Arthur kept a measured gaze on him. Then he looked at Zaphod, who shrugged and slipped on his shades to increase his cool potential. Then the human, for what seemed like the hundredth time since entering the wider Universe, fainted dead away.

* * *

Their arrival on Betelgeuse Five was unobtrusive, gentle and completely unnoticed. In other words, they knocked Zaphod out before entering the planet's atmosphere and beginning the descent. The Heart of Gold cut an incongruous figure against the dark red and sky blue vegetation of the small planet, but since they'd landed (improbably) in very dense woodland, it wasn't likely that anyone was going to notice. 

All four of the ship's occupants exited the ship and breathed the cool, refreshing, unrecycled air of Zaphod's planet of origin. Only three of them could actively appreciate this, but Zaphod seemed to be having a nice dream anyway judging by the hip movements. Ford put an arm around Arthur's waist, happy despite himself, and grinned his crazy lunatic's grin. "This is my home, Arthur. Welcome to Betelgeuse Five."

Arthur gaped. "It's…It's…Gosh."

_

* * *

This is an accurate summation. The most recent update on the Betelgeuse system in the 'Guide' notes that all the planets have a largely jungely environment with lots of smaller towns rather than occasional huge cities. Their naturally occurring plantlife is quite lovely to look at (rivalled only by the Lake District of the recently-deceased England) and their parasitic cute furry animals make good hunting for the famously hoopy inhabitants._

_The book also states that the Betelgeusians are a carnivorous race of territorial, towel-happy lunatics, which makes them fantastic hitchhikers, interesting politicians and terrifying Customer Service officials. They have a natural dependence upon alcohol to survive, a very large sexual appetite and an extremely relaxed attitude to interspecies relationships. Their relationships are usually multiple and it is common practice for Betelgeusians from separate families to share up to thirteen mothers._

_Nobody has ever attempted to go to war with any of the planets in the Betelgeuse system, for the simple fact that 'they're way to froody, man!'_

* * *

Trillian nodded her agreement, absently kicking the wheelbarrow-esque hovering thing they were transporting Zaphod in. The two-headed man grunted and started snoring. Ford ignored them and, keeping a firm grip on his lover, struck off through the trees, pointing out points of interest to him. Trillian watched them go, wondering if she should follow, then set about trying to wake Zaphod up. Since her method involved nudity and actions strictly banned in fifty percent on the Universe, this particular couple shall be left to their own devices.

* * *

It didn't take long before Arthur found himself standing next to Ford outside a secluded dwelling in the middle of a glade (where the hunting was especially excellent). It was a relatively large building composed of lots of blue and white bubbles seemingly attached to each other by long chains of fluff and marshmallows. What Arthur couldn't understand was that these bindings were in fact a highly sophisticated and incredibly complicated type of intelligent bonder and sealant for all domestic purposes (which included gluing difficult children upside down to walls). 

The Betelgeusian stepped forwards, straightening his clothes a little, and knocked on the door. He took Arthur's hand and smiled reassuringly at the nervous human. "Don't worry," he said. "My mums are going to love you."

"Why do you keep saying 'mum**s**'?" Arthur asked, puzzled.

"Er…"

The door swung open. A pleasant-looking young woman stepped out into the light and smiled slightly distantly. "Ah, Ix," she greeted Ford. "Long time no see."

"Hi Snurg. Are any of them in?"

"Well, most of them are on a shopping trip so we don't expect them back for a few years. But-" (here the woman made an incomprehensible gargling noise in the back of her throat) "- is in the kitchen!"

Ford's eyes lit up and he leapt towards the girl, hugged her, then grabbed Arthur and pulled him into the house. "This is great," he called back to the bemused human as they rushed through a baffling maze of corridors. "You're going to meet my favourite mother!"

"Hang on Ford! What do you mean your 'favourite mother'?"

Ford halted briefly. "Look, its simple, I have nine mothers, three of whom I share with Zaphod. Actually, that number's considered quite conservative."

"What about your father?"

"He's dead."

"Oh. I'm sorry."

The Betelgeusian shrugged. "He didn't like me very much, I don't think. Just because I couldn't speak Praxibetel or satisfactorily explain what a Hrung was or why it should collapse on my home planet."

Arthur felt a bit lost, but was intrigued. "This isn't your home planet then?"

"No. Betelgeuse Seven was destroyed years ago when a Hrung collapsed on it," Ford explained patiently. "My father was the only survivor. He settled here, fathered a son, then died of disappointment because of aforementioned reasons for not being very fond of me. And that's why everyone calls me Ix."

The human reeled. This was the most he'd ever learned about Ford in one go. He wasn't quite sure how to react to his lover's flippant delivery of what, to Arthur, sounded like a terrible sort of thing to happen.

Ford patted his shoulder kindly. "Don't worry about it. I've done the whole teenage angst thing, I'm perfectly fine with it now. And anyway, I liked my mothers a lot better. Especially-" (again, the strange gargly noise). Arthur just nodded as Ford set off again.

Upon entering the enormous kitchen, Arthur's first thought was 'Jesus, what an enormous kitchen!' Humans are, after all, noted for their capacity for stating/thinking the obvious. His second thought was 'Oh, that must be Ford's mother'

This second thought referred to the attractive middle-aged woman who had turned around as they entered the room. She was taller than Ford by a couple of inches, but the huge blue eyes and the lunatic grin were unmistakable. There was a mischievous set to her impish face also like her son's, but there the similarity ended. She was a sturdily built, curvaceous lady with thick cascades of dark chestnut hair. She smiled and opened her arms wide immediately on seeing Ford.

Ford let out an undignified whoop and pounced on his mother, hugging her tightly and purring happily. For her part, the Betelgeusian mum wrapped up her son in a back-breaking embrace. Arthur felt tears form in his eyes, but that was probably because he had his own child grapefruit-ing away quite happily inside him.

The embrace was wriggly and involved a lot of catlike rubbing of cheeks. After a while, parent and child broke apart and Ford winked at his mother. "So Mum, did you miss me?" he asked, cheekily.

The woman slapped his shoulder good-naturedly. "Of course I did, you wicked child! We all did. When we got your message telling me you were back where you belonged, we had to send a Materno at once!"

"Erm…Mum, it's 'Ford' now," the Guide reporter corrected, a little sheepishly.

"Ford? Oh well, if you've settled on it. And I can see it's not the only thing you've settled on." The woman turned an appraising but friendly gaze on Arthur, who automatically stood a bit taller and stopped slouching.

Ford took her arm and brought her over to the human. "Mum, this is Arthur, I saved him from the Earth. And Arthur, this is my mum."

"Um…hello," Arthur said, nervously, resisting the urge to fidget with the tassels on his dressing gown cord.

The scrutiny remained calculating for a second longer, then the woman broke into a grin that caused the human to flinch automatically. "I think you'll do nicely. You must be quite special for my I…Ford to settle on monogamy. He was quite the rogue, you know."

"Aw, Mum!" Ford whined, scuffing his feet in the manner of all embarrassed children.

"Well, dear, my name is-" (again, the gargling throat abuse) "but I doubt your vocal chords could cope with that. I suppose you could shorten it to…erm…Skoda? Is that alright?"

Arthur nodded, wondering if all Betelgeusian names could be shortened to car manufacturers. Meanwhile, Skoda's grin widened and she hugged the human warmly. "Welcome to the family," she said. Then, weirdly, she released him and put a hand on his stomach, concentrating. Arthur glanced at Ford, who was smiling again in a worrying fashion. Skoda nodded. "And congratulations on your little one."

Luckily, Betelgeusians have very quick reactions, so it was a simple matter for the mother and child to catch the human as his consciousness decided it had had enough for one day and was going to take a walk.

"Is he always like this?" Skoda asked as she and her favourite son placed the limp body on one of the various couches in one of the various living rooms.

"Well, he's had a hard day," Ford said defensively. "And he's a bit delicate at the moment. Human males aren't supposed to be able to have children."

"Ah. So how was my fifth grandchild conceived?"

"Someone," Ford's face darkened and his fists clenched involuntarily, "someone thought it would be a neat idea to drug Arthur with some fertility treatment! Lousy zarking…"

"Yes, thank you, I get the picture." Skoda looked at her son's sriataer. "So you've definitely settled? He's definitely the one?"

Ford relaxed and he smiled warmly, reaching out to stroke Arthur's hair back from his forehead. "Yes. It's him," he replied, simply.

"So how did you meet him?"

"As far as I can remember, I was at a party on Earth when…"

FLASHBACK

Ford looked up at the mountain of muscle he'd just staggered into and raised his glass cheerily. "Shrftglyut," he remarked, intelligently. He looked down in some surprise at the alcohol that was now seeping into his jumper, and then blearily at the empty glass in the large human's hand. "I got your drin' onmythin'" he slurred.

The big human grabbed him by the front of his jumper and lifted him until he was looking directly into bloodshot eyes full of a drunken fury that said 'I'm pissed and I want to bash something and you are soon going to be walking home with no legs.' This prospect had a more sobering effect than the strongest of strong coffee from the planet France (where even the weak coffee can melt titanium. Ford began to struggle, in the hope it would aid his avoidance of any pulling off of legs.

Luckily, this disastrous circumstance was averted when a voice from behind them said, "I'm terribly sorry, but I seem to have picked up your drink by mistake."

Ford turned and saw a man standing behind them. In his hand was an olive branch in the form of a pint. Not very olive branch-y, but it meant Ford would keep his legs so he wasn't fussing. The mountain looked at the drink, then at Ford, then back at the drink. Faced with this impossible decision, his brain melted momentarily and he dropped the ginger-haired man. Thus with one thing lost and another opportunity right in front of him, the ugly human took the drink with a muttered. "Ta."

Ford, having put a few feet between him and his assailant, took a good look at his saviour. The man was taller by him than several inches, quite skinny, looking to be in his mid to late twenties. He had thick dark hair and attractive grey eyes set in a pleasant if unremarkable face. His voice was cultured and had a certain intonation that spoke of a Cambridge education. He was smiling. "You don't want to mess with that ugly sod," he advised, patting Ford's arm confidentially. "He keeps bodies in his closet."

"Oh. Shouldn't you tell the police?"

"No that was a jo…oh never mind. I'm Arthur by the way, Arthur Dent."

Ford shook the man's hand. "Ford Prefect."

"Really? You poor bugger. Your parents must have been sadists."

"No, I quite liked most of them."

The human laughed. Ford grinned at his new acquaintance. 'I think I like you, Arthur Dent,' he thought to himself. 'I think I like you very much.'

END FLASHBACK

"Interest at first sight, eh?"

"Pretty much. But he's not easy. It took his home exploding and a few year's worth of being stranded on a prehistoric continent for him to even contemplate the idea of sleeping with me."

Skoda chuckled. "The hard-to-get ones make the best partners. Just make sure you don't lose him. And hide him from your cousin Mazda- you know what he's like with abduction for indecent orgies."


	8. Quickening

Thank you, precious readers: Eileen, Tomiko the Muse (no offence taken), Chibi-Yomi, taby, Rowana S, Yit-ha (I'm fine, thanks for asking, how are you?), Les Lapins Mauvais (hugs), Mithril Maiden, Spirals (molests) and banana flavoured dragon.

Mushy chapter. Very very mushy. You thought the previous chapters were mushy? They don't even come close. Serious mush. I apologise for it, but there you are. (I like the word mush, by the way. Had you noticed?) Oh, and this is another jam chapter. Jam is now my trademark, at least for Hitchhiker's…

Dedicated to Les Lapins Mauvais (happy birthday for Wednesday!) and banana flavoured dragon.

So, roughly week eight and a half.

* * *

Ford had decided to take up water sports. Or jogging. Or Extreme Cold-Showering. Anything to stop him drooling when Arthur was eating. 

They'd decided to extend their stay on Betelgeuse Five- after all, Ford had been away for fifteen Earth years. Trillian and Zaphod had also decided a break was in order, but they definitely weren't visiting relatives. Not when they were lodging in the isolated, middle-of-the-woods 'Seduction Shack' (popular with honeymoon couples and those without lisps).

It had been to Arthur's extreme gratification that they'd learned from Skoda that most of the immediate family were on a three year round trip to a Galacti-market: he didn't think he could cope with many of Ford's relatives, not if he wanted to remain vertical and conscious. He'd been warned about his lover's many and varied randy cousins so he wasn't at all surprised when, on his first meeting with the infamous Mazda, he ended up flat on his back on a sofa watching dazedly as Ford attacked the wayward cousin with a piece of lead piping.

But apart from that, as far as the human was concerned life was good- despite a tightening of his clothes as his stomach expanded, he didn't feel sick anymore; his emotional state was more balanced; and he'd found a huge stash of jam at the far end of the kitchen. It tasted like raspberry, but he didn't like to ask what it really was.

Hence Ford's problem. As far as the Betelgeusian was concerned, jam equalled sex (which had lead to problems in lots of cafes on Earth, and one or two police manhunts. Ford usually hid out at Arthur's whenever that sort of thing happened). And though they had continued an enjoyable but depleted sex life since discovering the news, Ford had felt that he should perhaps lay off with the pouncing and unannounced molestation. If anything, it might prevent his crabby lover throwing knives at him at bedtime.

But now that jam had been entered into the equation, it wasn't going to be long before he snapped.

* * *

It was their third session with Dr Fastinslotbarter. The good doctor had kindly consented to making home visits partly because, as far as the Universe was concerned, Arthur was a rare breed and needed to be afforded every comfort and partly because the doctor was quite fond of the odd couple. He liked the way they managed to make an impossible relationship succeed, mainly through sex, alcohol, a shared confectionery fetish and ignoring what each other said for half the time. Oh, and love. 

Dr Fastinslotbarter turned his attention to the ultrasound scanner (ultrasound was still considered the safest way to scan a pregnant being, but the pictures were a lot clearer than those of Earth scanners). He flicked a reassuring smile towards the slightly nervous human and made sure that he was in no way touching the smooth bare skin of the bulging stomach- if the growling was anything to go by, Mr Prefect would not be very happy with unnecessary contact. The doctor adjusted a few settings, replaced the microphone and turned the monitor so the expecting parents could see their developing child.

Arthur drew in his breath sharply, tightening his hand around Ford's. The little image was about six inches long and he could easily distinguish a head and a curled up body. The foetus was lying peacefully on its back, unmoving. The picture was a little grainy, but he could clearly make out the beginnings of facial features and tiny tiny movements of the chest as the foetus practised breathing the amniotic fluid. Bending over the couch next to him, he could hear a proud rumbling in his lover's chest as Ford started to purr. Unconsciously, Arthur reached out to touch the screen, tracing the outline of the baby growing inside him.

"Ford," he whispered, transfixed by the image. "Oh, Ford…"

Dr Fastinslotbarter grinned as the Betelgeusian nuzzled his partner's cheek affectionately. Even he could hear the purring, and he was sat on the other side of the couch. He reached back and tapped a few keys on the machine, setting it to print some of the images. He had a feeling it would be some time before he could prise his equipment from the entranced couple.

* * *

Later that evening Ford and Arthur lay curled up together in bed, drowsily cuddling as was their wont (due to Ford's affection-junkie status). The euphoria of their session had worn off a little, but they were still at the 'floating on a cloud of pregnant whimsy' stage. Ford was therefore surprised when the human shifted away from him with a muttered, "I need a snack," before tramping off to the kitchen. 

Alone in the dark, the Betelgeusian reached out a hand to the bedside cabinet, upon which rested their printouts. He didn't look at them, but he allowed his fingers to trace the cool surface and let his mind wander. Really, it had yet to sink in that he was going to be a parent. Every time he looked at the by now definite bulge in Arthur's stomach, he felt a shiver of mingled excitement, pride and fear ripple through him. Fatherhood. It was a big responsibility. He hoped he could live up to it.

His musings were interrupted by Arthur's return. The human passed a hand over one of the light touchpads on the wall, causing it to emit a very dull blue glow, barely enough to see by. Ford's nose twitched and inwardly he groaned as his keen predator's senses picked up the smell of raspberry jam. He examined the human as Arthur clambered awkwardly into the bed, his brow furrowing as he saw what the jam was spread on to.

"Arthur, are you sure you picked up the right package?"

The Earthman raised an eyebrow at him, then shrugged and took a bite of his jam-smeared wedge of cheese, his tongue flicking out to catch any errant crumbs. He was showing every sign of enjoyment, but Ford couldn't help but wonder if the drug-like high of the afternoon wasn't affecting his lover's mental capabilities.

Suddenly, Arthur froze, the cheese midway to his mouth. His eyes widened enormously and he looked down at his stomach, his free hand going to his stomach. Ford shifted closer, confused, as the human set aside his snack and caressed his belly with both hands. The human's eyes half-closed as he concentrated, then a smile brightened his face.

"What?" Ford asked, impatiently.

"Quickening," Arthur breathed, softly. "The…the baby moved. I felt the baby move!" The Earthman looked down at his stomach in awe. "Like tickling butterflies…"

Ford moved closer still and slid a hand under one of Arthur's. "I can't feel it," he said, disappointed.

"Well you won't, not for a few weeks," Arthur replied. "God, it's so incredible!"

The Betelgeusian moved a bit and lowered his head to rest an ear to the bump, straining in vain to feel for any hint of vibration. He was stopped by Arthur, who drew him up so he was on his side next to the human, leaning over his lover as Arthur lay down. Ford looked directly into Arthur's fervent grey eyes and moved in close, without thinking about it. "All this life surging through me," Arthur whispered against his lover's lips, his breath mingling with Ford's. "I can't describe it…Kiss me, Ford."

Ford complied, his lips pressing gently against Arthur's. Their movements were slow and languorous- they had all the time in the world to share the moment. Arthur reached up to wrap his arms around Ford's neck, deepening the kiss as Ford's chest pushed into his. One of Ford's hands buried itself in Arthur's hair; the other rested on the human's cheek, his fingers stroking in tiny circular motions. The kiss was sensual and passionate- the passion of lovers who know each other so well that touch will speak when words would only clutter up the air.

Eventually, after an age, they broke apart. Unwilling to relinquish the contact just yet, Ford began to trace Arthur's jawline with kisses. The human responded with a heightening of breath and tightening of his grip. Somewhere in the back of Ford's mind, his earlier reservations about sex with pregnant people were completely washed away by Arthur's next quiet but desperate plea.

"Make love to me."

The heated words burned straight into the heart of Ford's being. The walls he'd built up after weeks of being restrained crumbled under the onslaught of a raging ardour that swept through the Betelgeusian's body like forest fire through a matchstick farm. He growled deep in his throat and leant down to capture Arthur's lips again, feeling the human surrender completely to his aggression. Ford could feel his blood pounding through his veins as the air between them seemed to become heavy with their scents. He wasn't entirely aware of what he was doing, his brain was lagging behind his instincts- all he knew was that this was his mate and he had a scorching, searing, broiling need.

"Mine," he hissed as he broke the possessive kiss and dove at Arthur's neck.

"Yours," the human agreed, breathlessly. "Always."

_

* * *

There has been much debate in the universe about the existence of erogenous zones, mainly because the weather doesn't interest that many people and sex is the one thing that every race in the universe has in common. A common argument against their existence goes as follows:_

'_If there are such things as defined areas of the body that are sensitive to sexual stimulus, surely other parts of the body would be immune. As has been proved by constant experimentation, there is not a part of any body in the Universe that cannot be stimulated sexually. This is true of all races, even mean, callous, ugly sons-of-bitches like Vogons. If the entire body reacts to sexual stimulus, than the necessity to locate and map such area is unnecessary and redundant.'_

_Many female beings have countered this by saying that the male beings are just too damned lazy to attempt finding any erogenous zones. However, one up and coming (and more importantly, extremely bored) Multi-Xeno-Sexologist took this hypothesis even further, reasoning that perhaps it was not that the body didn't have specific erogenous areas- maybe the entire body was just one great erogenous zone. _

_This theory is a popular one, especially with the Orgi People of Ero-Genus Omega, who spend seventy-five percent of their lives in a state of sexual excitement. The other twenty-five percent is spent trying to organise dinner parties- a process that is never very successful because during the early planning stages of the dinner party, the Orgi Person feels the need to take a break and have a nice relaxing orgy. Herein lies the problem- that sort of thing can really put you off discussing vol-au-vents and canapés._

* * *

If anyone had been asked to describe that night, they might have said a number of things- twisted, freaky and weird could spring to certain minds. A particular relative of one of the participants may have said it was a major turn on. But there was really only one word- mind-blowing. Totally and utterly mind-blowing. 

Sex with your lover is good. Sex with your pregnant lover is very good. Sex with your pregnant lover after several weeks of little or no sex is absolutely fan-bloody-tastic.

Ford really wished he'd filmed it for future reference.


	9. whodunnit

Disclaimer: I don't own HHGTTG

Merci beaucoup, mes lecteurs beaux: Rowana S, Spirals, Eileen (ah, you will find out at the birth!), Mithril Maiden, Les Lapins Mauvais, AnonGirl88, Regina Rex (Jam is my gift, it is my curse), Madelyn Scott (I used to hate them, then I wrote one. Worrying eh?) dangerprawn, baka-basher (yes, I like my accent too) and confuzzed.

To **confuzzed**: You haven't missed anything. Jam is a personal perversion of mine and has nothing to do with Hitchhiker's, I just like to include it as my trademark in HHGTTG fics. 'Sriataer' is a word of my invention that translates literally as 'lover' but is used to mean 'one-true-love'.

Dedicated to Les Lapins Mauvais and banana flavoured dragon, who are both on their hols.

Week ten- halfway, chaps!

* * *

The house was quiet. This, in itself, was unusual. There were no shrieks from the nursery, no loud explosions from the kitchen, no moans or screams from any of the bedrooms. A casual observer might be forgiven for thinking that all of the occupants had been drugged, killed or kidnapped. This was not the case. All but three of them were Out. In this case, the capital letter denotes the fact that this was a family bonding outing to a leisure facility like a zoo/amusement park/swimming pool/death arena. Betelgeusian family outings are never to be undertaken by the faint-hearted or those with a history of nervous disorders. 

Ford sat in one of the recliners, enjoying the silence. He knew Arthur was having a nap and Skoda was in the garden coaxing honey from the killer zombie bees. Zombie bees were a popular breed, due to their inability to die, their cannibalistic habits meaning they didn't need feeding and their exceptionally interesting mating ritual, once described by an unknown beekeeper as 'quite possibly the greatest gang bang in all of nature…erm…are you recording this?'

The Betelgeusian considered going to join his lover, remembered he was likely to be grouchy if woken, then returned his attention to his magazine. It had arrived that morning and contained a very interesting article about a scandal at the _Hitchhiker's Guide_ offices. According to an anonymous source, the publishing companies of Ursa Minor had been secretly accepting huge funds from the largest towel distributors in the galaxy, since the first publication of its most successful book. Obviously, Ford's employers had denied such allegations, but they had toned down references to the uses of towels in the latest updates.

Ford shook his head and cuddled his towel. He shut the magazine and dropped it carelessly on the floor, settling back in the chair and closing his eyes. His attempt to sleep was unsuccessful, however, as he was interrupted by the arrival of Arthur. The human looked dog-tired, his eyes were shadowed and he was having difficulty breathing due to their growing child squishing his lungs. The tiredness might also have something to do with the continuous nights of rampant sex, which had been fairly prolific recently. Ford took in his lover and shifted to make room for him on the absurdly large chair (evidently designed by people who expected huge orgies to take place in them…which admittedly was not uncommon).

Arthur slumped down next to Ford and smiled wearily when Ford snuck out a hand to fondle his stomach. "Whenever I try to sleep, he wakes up and starts swimming around," the human grinned, wheezing a little as he slouched. They had decided to refer to the baby as 'he' even though they had informed Dr Fastinslotbarter that they didn't wish to know its gender.

The hand continued to stroke soothingly and Ford made a noise of sympathy. "I suppose having to prop yourself up on pillows to be able to sleep doesn't help does it?"

"Not really," Arthur said, snuggling into the comfy chair. "I'm beginning to dislike being round," he complained, jokingly.

"Well, we're halfway through now," Ford said, feeling a slight thrill at the thought. "You'll be back to slim and svelte and able to crawl through air vents in no time."

"I'm not even going to bother asking whether the last one was meant to be comforting. Have you had any thoughts about names?"

They had been discussing possible names for about a week. "Erm…None that you could pronounce," Ford admitted, sheepishly. "I called Zaph and Trillian, but they wouldn't answer."

The human chuckled. "Too worn out from all the indecent honeymoon-esque shagging I would think," he remarked, candidly. Ford poked him. Arthur stuck his tongue. Ford kissed him, thereby hiding the offending tongue. Things got quite heated and wriggly for a few minutes, until…

"Ford! Darling, where are you!"

'Ford darling' was quite surprised to find himself in a crumpled heap on the floor. He sat up, rubbing his leg where it was sore from impact, and glared at Arthur. The human was hiding under Ford's towel, obviously trying to hide a 'Oh-God-someone-nearly-walked-in-on-us' blush. This particular sort of prudishness was one of the things Ford would never understand about Arthur. He sighed. "I'm in here Mum!"

Skoda bustled in, cradling a large grey bee in her hand. "I think one of Gerald's legs has fallen off again. Would you be a dear and hold him down whilst I get the staple gun?"

"Sure," Ford said, standing and taking the doomed Gerald. Arthur peeked out from under the towel. "You're going to use a staple gun on an innocent creature?" he asked, horrified.

"Well, yes. It's the only way of dealing with the nasty buggers. They're always pulling each other's legs off. It's a bee-eat-bee world out there, Arthur. Also they have a scoring chart for each bee- it's like premiership football, only with less cheating, violence and drug-abuse."

Arthur's eyes welled up. "That's the saddest thing I've ever heard," he sniffed, pathetically. Ford rolled his eyes as Skoda re-entered the room.

"Arthur! Is something wrong?" She hurried over to him, her concerned motherly image only slightly ruined by the gruesome, rusty staple gun.

"It's just his hormones, Mum, he'll be alright in a minute."

"Excuse me…!" Arthur began, before being cut off by a backbreaking hug from Ford's favourite mother, who then advanced on the quivering zombie bee and stapled his leg back on with various squelchy sounds and the odd buzz of terror.

"There we are!" Skoda trilled, stroking Gerald's bristly back and cooing at him. The buzzing zombie stung her affectionately, then flew off back to the garden. "Ah. Erm, Ford, do you think you could be a love and fetch the antidote before my hand falls off?"

Ford, who had hoping to get back to unashamed chair snugglery, groaned and scampered off. His mother smiled sweetly at Arthur, who looked vaguely green, and said, "It's so nice having someone around who's willing to do little jobs for me!"

The ginger-haired man stomped back into the room, threw the bottle at his mother, and folded his arms defiantly, scowling. Skoda patted him on the head and left.

"Arthur, we've got to get out of here!"

"Why?"

"Because every time something good's about to happen someone walks in, or requests medical attention, or asks to join in!" Ford started to pace. "We should take the ship and go somewhere quiet where we can be alone."

Arthur considered this for a moment, then heaved himself to his feet. "Alright. I'll just go and pack my stuff."

* * *

After a tearful goodbye, the couple made their way back to where they'd 'parked' the _Heart of Gold_ three weeks previously. Once aboard and, having restrained Ford from maniacally murdering Eddie twice during takeoff, Arthur allowed himself to relax. Oddly enough, the stark white corridors and the irritating cheerfulness of every electronic appliance and the occasional chirpy song from Eddie now made the ship feel a bit like a favourite book- familiar, comfortable, with no nasty surprises and practically guaranteed to be unable of causing your death. 

Ford, on the other hand, was just glad to be away from his relatives. He felt a very very very tiny amount of guilt about abandoning Zaphod to them, but it soon passed. Anyway, now he and Arthur could be alone and completely uninterrupted. The Betelgeusian grinned and padded softly up to Arthur's chair, making a small noise of warning (after all, he wouldn't want to shock his pregnant lover) and pounced.

The two of them were just getting interested in playing with each other's zips/buttons/elastic when a loud and annoyingly well-known voice cut through the air. "Hey man! Not on the bridge. Or at least tell me before you go o the bridge so I can remove the chairs I sit on!"

Arthur groaned and pushed Ford off him, glaring at the smirking, underpanted form of Zaphod with slightly dilated pupils, brushing back his mussed hair. "How-What-Why-" he sighed and took a deep breath. "When did you get on board?"

"About fifteen minutes ago. Trillian and I wanted to see how long it would take for us to have sex in every room."

"And it took fifteen minutes?"

"No, Monkey! I just came to get a hammer so I could break into your room!"

A mournful voice joined in the conversation. "I don't suppose anyone wants to know how I got back to the ship using just my enormous brain and a toothpick? No, I thought not. I'll just sit here and be ignored and try to burn out all my circuits shall I?"

All three of the organisms ignored Marvin and he returned the favour.

Trillian chose this moment to sway in, dressed in a short silky chemise, which she quickly hid by jumping behind Zaphod. The two-headed Betelgeusian's dirty smirk widened and he reached behind him to grope at the girl whilst she was vulnerable. Ford, having picked himself up off the floor for the second time that day, was too busy trying to convince Arthur to follow him back to the bedroom and indulge in something filthy and degenerate to notice them. Eddie was humming 'In the Mood' by Glen Miller, in the hopes that it would help his passengers get in the mood. It didn't

What with all this inter-couple action, no one except Marvin noticed the ominous arrival of a large pink spaceship, which pulled up effortlessly alongside the _Heart of Gold_ and proceeded to issue a threat of imminent boarding. Marvin decided, out of spite, that he was going to go shut down for a while so he could organise his databanks.

With a particularly tooth-grinding whine, a large indistinct shape materialised on the bridge. Light beams coalesced to form a five-foot tall three-legged thing, casually dressed in a purple suit that clashed quite badly with its oily green skin. A large orange beak protruded from its head, giving it the look of an exceptionally evil penguin that's had the bad luck to fall into a vat of hair dye and then be dressed by a blind tailor. It had two penguin flippers and two basically humanoid arms. Having successfully shocked the occupants of the ship it had invaded, the Pookuuny scrutinised each of the four humanoids in turn.

_

* * *

The recently disgraced 'Guide' contains only a small entry on Pookuuny:_

'_Penguin-like, colour blind, physically weak and worryingly strong mentally, however ridiculous they look, Pookuunies should not be insulted. They can quite easily vaporise your brain just by looking at you. They dislike curry and are very good swimmers. However, they DO look very stupid and-'_

_Here the entry ends abruptly. It is suspected that the Pookuuny that was a co-worker of the journalist who was writing the entry walked up behind him with some coffee and just happened to catch what would probably have been edited out of the final draft. It has been left in the 'Guide' as a mark of respect, partly because the editors like entries they didn't have to pay anyone for._

* * *

The Pookuuny froze when its gaze fell on Arthur and it's eyes narrowed. "We meet again, Arthur Dent," it squawked, spitting on the floor (which is quite a feat when you don't salivate). 

Arthur glanced at Ford nervously before answering the creature. "Agrajag?"

"I see you have gained considerable weight since our last meeting. Why does that not surprise me, you selfish, greedy, over-indulgent, calorie grabbing bastard?"

Ford leaned in close to Arthur to whisper; "Is this the bloke you keep kill…" his voice tailed off. His eyes turned red. His hair began to stand on end and he started growling. "Why are you not surprised?" he shot at the creature. "Is it because YOU did this to him?"

The Pookuuny, not acknowledging Zaphod or Trillian, frowned at Ford. "Did what?"

"You drugged him, that night in the club. You're the one that used the Superbaby Miracle Whatever!"

"He's pregnant?" Agrajag paused in his hatred campaign for a moment. "How did-? Never mind, I'm going to kill him anyway!"

Ford snarled, baring his fangs. "Try it and I'll put my hand far enough down your throat to rip your balls off!"

Zaphod butted in. "Wait a minute, hold it guys. Are you saying this froodily dressed thing is responsible for the baby ape?"

"Who else would it be?" Arthur asked from his safe place behind the protective Ford.

Agrajag snorted. "Why would I do something that would make my sworn enemy and multiple murderer happy?"

There was a pregnant pause. Followed by a pregnant outburst.

"You think this makes me happy? You think being fat, ungainly, tired, stressed and hormonal makes me happy?" Arthur asked, stepping forwards with an angry light in his eyes. Zaphod, Ford and Trillian all backed away and ducked behind the console banks, leaving Arthur alone to confront the confused Pookuuny.

"You think I _like_ having to wear clothes that stretch to conform to my whale-like size? You think I'm enjoying mood swings, feeling like shit then feeling great before the shit kicks in again? You think I like shouting at the person I love when it all gets too much?" Arthur demanded, his voice rising in pitch and volume as he stalked towards the quivering Pookuuny. "You think that I like…"

This went on for some time until, with a loud pop, the Pookuuny's head exploded. No one was really that surprised. Arthur looked at the innards sprayed across the once-pristine white walls and burst into tears. "I can't even see my feet!" he sobbed, desperately.

Ford peered around the edge of the consoles and ran over to him. "Aw, baby," he said, tenderly, reaching out to cup Arthur's cheek. "Don't worry, I can still see them."

As they embraced, Trillian looked at Zaphod, absent-mindedly sticking fingers in both of his eyes to stop him molesting her. "Well, if Arthur's nemesis didn't do it, who did?"

* * *

(cue spooky music) 


	10. Storm Clouds Gather

Thank you very much, my gorgeous reviewers: 'not confuzzed anymore', AnonGirl88, Eileen, Rowana S (patience, young Jedi- these things will become clear to you), Captain Oz (it was my pleasure), Tomiko the Muse (why, thanks), PrincessYaoi, Spirals, Mithril Maiden (it was a bit confusing), Scap, Zoe, kears and banana flavoured dragon (hello snugglebunny)

To **Zoe**: In a different fic, I would completely agree. However, Arthur had been drugged, which made him very overly-affectionate and, you know, they are having a baby together. That's bound to make them a bit mushy. Thanks for your lovely comments!

I'm bored. Is anyone else bored? This mpreg is slowing to turgid, fluff-laden halt. Well, there's only one thing for it. On to stage three! I was going to do this later but…well…I'm going to do it now! So we're skipping quite a bit of the second trimester and heading for Angst-City, population Ford and Arthur. (evil grin) Also, I'm going back to school on the 31st, so updates may get sporadic.

Disclaimer: If you think I own any of this, you must be madder than a basket of arseholes.

Dedicated to Les Lapins Mauvais and banana flavoured dragon

Week Fourteen

* * *

The last month had been a fairly uneventful one. At least, in Ford Prefect's terms it had been fairly uneventful. He and Arthur had spent their time visiting the most pleasant parts of the Universe to update entries for the _Guide _offices and capitalising on Arthur's ever-growing bump by undertaking detailed research about the facilities for pregnant beings in the various galaxies and how preggos were received by different races. 

All in all, it had been a successful venture. At least they didn't have to live off Ford's back-pay, benefits and towel allowances or Zaphod anymore. Zaphod and Trillian seemed quite happy to continue accommodating them on the _Heart of Gold_, mainly because Trillian quite liked Arthur while he was pregnant and Zaphod didn't dare face her wroth if he kicked Ford and Arthur off the spaceship.

The pregnancy had progressed smoothly, with no major problems. They had even started planning out the baby's room, buying new furniture, comparing paint colours, etc. They were still undecided as to potential names, but Ford took the view that they could cross that inter-dimensional Time Warp when they came to it. One highlight of the past four Earth-weeks was the discovery that others could now feel the movements of the developing child, something that had delighted Ford and Trillian. Zaphod was less impressed. (To be precise, he'd said "What's so special about kicking? I've known how to kick for ages!", before going on to demonstrate on Marvin.)

But a little thing called Murphy's Law states that if anything can go wrong, it will go wrong. Unfortunately, Murphy was completely right about this. 'It' was about to go wrong. And it started with something so trivial. They had just docked at the inter-galactic equivalent of a service station and Zaphod and Trillian had slipped out for the inter-galactic equivalent of an overpriced full English breakfast served with sullen hostility and barely disguised resentment.

"Ford, I'm not sure that orange and green are strictly the best colours to paint a newborn's room," Arthur said, directing a dubious look at the polka-dot sample Ford had just painted.

The Betelgeusian grinned, absently trying to brush paint out of his hair and getting more paint in it by doing so. "Of course it is. The book said that babies need lots of stimulation to help their brains process and develop. If orange and green isn't stimulating, I don't know what is!"

"But we also want him to _sleep_," Arthur stressed, twisting in his chair to pick up a colour sample booklet from the desk. "I think pastel colours would be better, to help soothe him."

Ford snorted. "Soothe? We don't want him to be soothed! We want him to be active and learning and curious."

The human stared at him. "He's been keeping me awake for the past fourteen weeks!" he exclaimed. "It would be nice for us to both sleep, Ford!"

"Oh right, I get it, so once he leaves your stomach, he's no longer your responsibility, is that it?"

"I didn't say that…"

Ford shot out of his chair, barely keeping his temper in check. "Well, what did you mean then? I know this is hard for you, I know that! I just can't believe that you want this to be over, that you want to be rid of him! What kind of parent are you?"

As soon as he said it, he regretted it. But there were weeks of irritable tiredness and strain that had been imperceptibly building like the steady rise of oppressive tension before a thunderstorm. Angry, selfish urges had been constantly repressed and forced down and now the dams they had built up around their emotions were beginning to crack.

Arthur's face was set, hardening to granite at Ford's words. "You're asking me that? You, the feckless freeloader with more alcohol in his bloodstream than water!"

"Alright, so I'm trying to enjoy my life! I know that's a hard concept for you to grasp, human, but at least I haven't wasted my time whining about what I don't have!"

The human could feel his fury beginning to boil. "Excuse me, my planet has been destroyed!"

"So has zarking mine!" Ford yelled, his hands clenching automatically in his frustration. A growl began throb through his throat.

"You had family around you! You had familiarity! You didn't have to wake up everyday dreading and hating the whole Universe!" Arthur stood with difficulty, his breath starting to rasp a little.

Ford's growl deepened in pitch. "Well if you hated it so much, what made you stay?"

"I don't know anymore, Ford! I thought it might possibly be you, but I was obviously mistaken in thinking you had any affection for me whatsoever! Why did you even bother saving me?"

The Betelgeusian glowered at his lover, his vibrant blue eyes freezing to an icy hardness. "You know what?" he snarled, bitterly. "I have no idea. Why did I zarking bother saving such a useless, pathetic, whinging waste of space?" With that, the enraged alien turned and stalked off, ripping the paint sample to pieces.

Arthur stared after him, the enormity of the argument hitting him with the force of an asteroid as his anger fizzled away. "Ford," he whispered, brokenly, slumping back into his chair. "Oh God."

He buried his face in his hands and felt his unborn child, seemingly distressed by the noise, move erratically inside him. "You can't leave me."

* * *

Ford stormed into his and Arthur's shared room, grabbing all sorts of random items and thrusting them into his ever-present satchel. His mind seethed with a white-hot blaze of pure rage and all he wanted to do was get off and away from the source of his troubles. His lips were pulled back from his teeth in a half-snarl and if he'd taken the time to think he'd have realised that it was more instinct and genetics that were guiding him than common sense or reason. He had fought with his sriataer, and now he was going to leave. 

He was better off without Arthur anyway. He could go back to living how he was meant to live- risking his life on dangerous adrenaline stunts for the sake of research and getting drunk out of his skull afterwards. He wanted to mess around and play around and sleep around, and to Hell with the consequences. He wanted to live on the far side of danger, hanging on by the skin of his teeth with hundreds of numbers stuffed in his back pocket and a large drink in his hand and down his throat. He wanted out.

He snatched a towel, the last thing to go in the satchel, and left the room, heading down to the exit hatch. All he needed was his native hitchhiker wit and thirty Alterian dollars a day.

It wasn't until several hours later that he realised he'd brought the old green towel that Arthur had once given him on a stormy winter's night when he'd been lost and homesick and alone. And if his anger hadn't burned so hard in his eyes, he would have cried empty tears. He hadn't really meant what he'd said, had he?

But in the centre of every savage passion sparks an ember of truth.


	11. Purgatory

Thank you, thank you, my marvellous reviewers: Rowana S (May the Force be with you, R. Skywalker), AnonGirl88, kears, Eileen, Mithril Maiden, Spirals, Captain Oz, OrangePip, jelly-jam rabbit and Tomiko the Muse (cheers for the info, and the entirely undeserved compliment ;)) 

So, an aftermath chapter. Not really much else to say.

Dedication: for the much-missed Les Lapins Mauvais, who is STILL on holiday and banana flavoured dragon, who did jolly well when we went to get our GCSE results. Congrats, baby girl.

Week Sixteen

* * *

It had been two Earth-weeks since Ford had left. Two weeks. Trillian didn't know if Arthur would be able to cope without him for much longer. The human, before so energetic and uplifted by his pregnancy, now stumbled from day to day in a dreary haze. The aches and pains of his pregnancy seemed more pronounced than ever- if he wasn't wincing from joint stiffness, he would be wheezing as his lungs were cramped or whimpering at the fire in his back. Only staring at his ultrasound scans seemed to give him any sort of relief. He would lie for hours in bed, propped up on pillows, soaking up the movements of the foetus as if they were the only things keeping him alive. 

If the circumstances had been normal, the break up would have been a blow. Now, with his ever-growing child vulnerable and parted from his lover, Arthur was devastated. Trillian had taken on the role of confidant, advisor and helper. She avoided any mention of Ford whatsoever, choosing instead to devote her time to preparing Arthur for the birth. As the doctor had told them, it would be a Caesarean operation, but Arthur would still feel contraction and he still had to learn breathing techniques.

The two humans had taken to going on short walks together, in the hope that the exercise might help with the discomfort. Even though she knew she was no substitute for Ford, Trillian felt gratified by the tiniest of smiles she could raise on Arthur's face and the gratefulness in his eyes when he looked at her. Despite everything, Arthur was her friend and her last link to Earth, and whatever else she might feel about him, she did care.

To her immense surprise, even Zaphod had been supportive. It wasn't as obvious as Trillian's, but he suddenly seemed to have developed tact, something that the woman was eternally thankful for. Having regained full control of his ship, the two-headed Betelgeusian had not, as expected, started taking them to wild parties and seedy nightspots. Instead, he had stuck to pleasant, if bland, locations with non-violent, if odd, inhabitants.

Marvin had, of course, been locked away for the good of all concerned. Eddie's speech centres had also been tampered with, meaning that he was muted. It turned out he was impossible to completely silence.

Ford's name was never mentioned by anyone. No one knew where he'd gone or whether he'd be back. No one also thought it a good idea not to contact him whilst Arthur was around.

* * *

Ford awoke slowly, and groaned when he realised that he was still alive. He raised a hand to his head, in the vain hope that it might prevent his skull from splitting, and wished fervently for a drink to soothe the rage of the other drinks still brutalising his system. Daringly opening his sleep-crusted eyes, he sighed in relief when he was met by total and utter darkness. He rotated one eye to see glaring red numbers proclaim that it was glark in the froken. Or alternatively, three in the morning. Gah. 

At least he was in a bed. He could feel musty and slightly damp sheets clinging to his naked skin and the surface beneath him was pleasantly squishy. He reached over the edge of the bed and down to the floor, knowing that sooner rather than later, he would encounter a bottle. He lifted the glass to his lips, spilling quite a lot of liquid over his face and neck as his motor skills fought to catch up with his brain, and drank deeply.

He shot upright and screamed. Then he dropped the bottle and fell backwards to curl into a ball, whimpering. Then, after the Viltvodle port had evaporated into his bloodstream, he sat up and coughed a couple of times as the red mist faded from his vision. Well, his breath wasn't as foul any more. Now it could only melt metal. Ford ran a hand through his hair, vaguely noting that he needed to wash it, and looked around.

Blackness looked back. Swearing softly, he staggered out of the bed and fumbled along the wall until he came to a light switch. A soft amber glow lit permeated the room like the scent of freshly brewed coffee (something Ford would have appreciated at that moment in time). The Betelgeusian blinked and looked at the bed.

Five minutes later he was legging it down to the cargo bay with his satchel, half-dressed and wild-eyed. Penniless hitchhikers definitely shouldn't sleep with the daughters of Battlefleet captains. Not if they liked they limbs fully attached.

Luckily the ship was docked and it wasn't long before Ford found himself under the slightly tepid water of a communal shower within the docking compound. It had been quite a morning, he decided as he rinsed last night's filth off his body and out of his hair. And just think, he hadn't moped about his bust-up with Arthur even once.

Oh, Belgium. Ford groaned again, and wished he were dead. Even death didn't hurt as much as heartbreak.

* * *

Zaphod glanced around the bridge one more time before tapping at the console. He knew it was probably a very bad idea, he knew it probably wouldn't solve anything and he knew that if Trillian found out she would probably withhold sex. But he was going to do it anyway. After all, they hadn't actually promised they'd be exclusive, right? 

He tapped a few more keys as a low buzzing noise filled the air. He clicked his tongue in annoyance and wafted his hand in front of an automatic sensor, trying to tune it to the right frequency. Eventually, after a particularly complicated gesture from Eroticon sign language (which meant 'Would you like to stroke my camel or should I massage your llama?') he heard the unmistakable beep of Sub-Etha Talk-O-Matic (the company that marketed Sub-Etha devices was never very good with inventing names).

"What?" came the grumpy voice of his semi-cousin.

"Ford- it's me."

"Oh, hi Zaph. Well, it's been nice talking to you…"

Zaphod slammed his hand onto one of the buttons in front of him, blocking any attempts made by Ford to end the call. "No, man, wait! We gotta talk."

Ford sighed. "Is it about the girl in Year Eight? Look, I apologised for that…"

"No, this is about you and Arthur."

There was deadly silence from Ford's end. Zaphod continued. "You can't keep this up. He needs you. He's going to pieces without you."

"He doesn't need me."

The two-headed man snorted. "Have you seen him recently? He spends half the time moping about you and the other half wondering about what's going to happen to his kid- to your kid, Ford!"

"Look, I appreciate the effort, but he's clearly better off without me messing up his life and screwing around with his emotions. It was never going to work- better to end it now rather than when…"

"Man, this is bullshit," Zaphod interrupted, firmly. "I may not be the best person to talk about this, but I've known you since we were kids and I had the correct number of appendages. You were always a player, but he's changed you. He's your sriataer, for Zarquon's sake! You've settled! You can't just throw that away!"

"Zaphod, we've tried it and it didn't work. I need the freedom to wander the Universe, he needs a decent cup of tea and some boring TV. So what if we thought we had something special? So what if he made me happier than I've ever been before? So what if I thought it was lo- different. I'm a one-night-stand guy. I can't do proper relationships." The voice was bitter and full of self-hate.

"Whether you think you can or not, you two are having a baby together."

Ford started to interrupt, but his semi-cousin cut him off. "I know it wasn't planned, before you say anything. I know you never even dreamed this might happen one day. But it has happened, and its changed your life almost as much as falling in love with him did. You can't go back to your old life, dude. You've got too much tying you to this new one. Think about that for me, 'kay?"

Zaphod hung up and sat for a while staring at the flashing lights on the control panel. Then, with an uncharacteristically heavy sigh, he went to get smashed out of his skull. All this deep thinking and do-gooding gave him two headaches that he never ever wanted to remember the causes of. He just hoped no one ever found out. Including him.

In the shadows of the opposite doorway, Trillian smiled before turning to go back to Arthur.


	12. The Miracle of Birth, or Not

Big huge gratitude to the exceptional people who were kind enough to review after reading: kears, Rowana S (ten A stars!), Eileen, Spirals (whoo, cricket!), Captain Oz, OrangePip, PrincessYaoi, Les Lapins Mauvais (hint taken) and Mithril Maiden (hey, I'm a miracle worker! Yay!) 

Disclaimer: Not mine.

Dedicated to: banana flavoured dragon, my little Bowie!whore and LLM, who is finally back from holiday! WHOOOOOOOO!

So, moving things on a bit this chapter. Enjoy!

Week Eighteen and a Half

* * *

Ford lay propped against the wall, watching the comings and goings of the cargo bay with dulled, disinterested eyes. He knew for a fact that his clothes were crumpled, travel-stained and foul-smelling, and he also knew that he was far too drunk to care. He took a melancholy swig from the bottle clutched in his grasp and sighed as the fiercely strong booze did its best to penetrate his already-abused system. It was a valiant effort, but one that the alcohol made in vain. 

He scrubbed a hand at his tired eyes and then dropped the bottle to pull his towel out of his satchel, hugging the clean material to him and letting his chin drop to his chest. If he couldn't get any more drunk, he might as well sleep some of the liquor off until more off it would have an effect.

Just then, his Sub-Etha Talk-O-Matic buzzed irritatingly to life. He considered ignoring it, but when the vibration started to drill into his leg, he discarded this option and hoisted the thing out of the dark recesses of his pack. He clicked it on.

"_Ford?"_

He sighed again. "Hello Trillian." There was a desperate note to the human woman's voice and he could hear what sounded like an intriguing chaos going on in the background. "How did you get this number?"

"_That's not important- Arthur's waters have broken!"_

Ford frowned. "Arthur doesn't have any waters."

"_Well, _something's_ broken! You've got to get here as soon as you can. It's nearly two weeks early- we've contacted Dr Fastinslotbarter and…"_

"I'm not coming."

"_WHAT!" _Saying that Trillian's tone was incredulous would be comparable to describing Vogon poetry as a tad outré.

"He won't want me there- you know, the emotional…"

Trillian interrupted him, her voice now furious. _"He's giving birth to your baby! He can't do this alone!"_

"He's not alone- he's got you. One of his own kind. That's for the best." Ford abruptly hung up and, with great precision, smashed the device against the wall. It was better if he and Arthur kept their distance. Even if that meant he wouldn't see the birth of his (his stomach turned unpleasantly) his child.

The Betelgeusian curled himself into a miserable ball of miserable misery around his towel and tried to convince himself he wasn't crying.

That was when he got punched in the face.

Flat on his back on the floor, he cupped a hand to the developing bruise on his cheek and stared up at the reluctantly determined face of Zaphod Beeblebrox. "I'm no hero man, but you're thicker than me if you think you're not coming."

Two hands grabbed the smaller form and unceremoniously hauled him to his feet as a third brushed at his clothes. "Ford, you stink."

The disorientated hitchhiker could only agree as the ex-Galactic President clicked his target-teleport device. The environment faded around them and then reformed as the interior of the _Heart of Gold. _Zaphod, grumbling about how violent Trillian was when enraged, hurriedly shoved Ford into one of the bathrooms. "The ship will clean your clothes in five minutes and I want you out of there in ten! And you'd better be zarking sober!" he yelled through the door. Ford complied- he didn't seem to have a choice.

* * *

Ten minutes later they were running into the hospital, the ship having been parked at the front entrance. Ford just followed his semi-cousin dumbly through the miles of white corridors until they reached the right room. Or more precisely, the corridor outside the right room. 

Ford's heart leapt to take up residence in his throat as he caught sight of Arthur. The human was leaning heavily on the wall, panting. His skin was covered in a thin sheen of sweat and his face was contorted with pain as his swollen belly rippled with a contraction. Trillian and a host of nurses surrounded the human and they were all jabbering advice at him. Even Ford could see how much this was distressing the nervous man.

All of his own concerns forgotten, Ford pushed through the throng and stood directly in front of Arthur, taking his hand and looking him directly in the eye. "I'm here Arthur. Breathe. Just take it calmly and breathe."

Disbelieving grey eyes met his. "Ford?" Arthur forced out between gritted teeth.

The hush around them died down and Arthur relaxed as the contraction ended. "That's right," Ford couldn't help grinning.

He was still grinning when he hit the floor for the second time that day. Arthur rubbed his fist, soothing his stinging knuckles. "Don't ever bloody think about doing that again. And anyway, I'm not talking to you."

The Betelgeusian smiled winningly. Arthur turned away, resisting the doe-eyes. Trillian nudged Ford with her foot. "You took your sweet time," she remarked, acidly.

Their frosty reunion was interrupted by the arrival of the doctor and his team. Dr Fastinslotbarter headed straight for his patient and took him by the arm. "Now now, Mr Dent, its going to be exactly as we discussed. A simple operation, and then you can sort out all the emotional strife and relationship warfare. For now, let's just get this baby into the world."

Arthur nodded, grateful for the support as he was led into the theatre. He paused to hug Trillian and nod warmly at Zaphod. Ford just stood and looked at him helplessly for a moment. The human hesitated. "I'm glad you came back," he said, finally. Before Ford could say anything, the bustling nurses and doctors urged him into the sterile room and shut the door.

Suddenly abandoned in the corridor, the Betelgeusian felt his repressed tears well in his eyes. "Be well, sriataer," he whispered as Zaphod enfolded Trillian into a comforting embrace and the other couple set off for the waiting room.

_

* * *

The 'Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy' says this about the miracle of birth:_

"_The being that is carrying the offspring will usually suffer some form of pain during a natural birth. The being who impregnated the 'mother' will also feel some sort of pain, invariably at the hands/paws of the irate 'mother'. Therefore, the 'father' may wish to imbibe vast amounts of stiffening drinks several hours previous to the actual event, in order that rants such as 'I zarking hate you, why did you do this to me you bastard?' will not affect them in any way._

_See Chapter 124- Life after birth, haha what a joke."_

* * *

Sat outside the operating room, Ford was doing what every prospective father does- worrying. He'd been worrying for over two hours. This was an unfamiliar concept to Ford- he'd rarely had something this important to worry about. Even if he did, he could have relied on his _Guide_, towel and native hitchhiker charm to get him out of the situation. 

Unfortunately, as 'Superbaby Miracle Fertility Treatment' was still largely an experimental drug, only trained medical professionals could be physically present at the operation. This loosely defined term excluded the fretting Betelgeusian from the room where people were doing unspeakable things to his…he didn't even know how to think of Arthur now. And, if he listened very hard, he could hear muffled noises from the human as the Caesarean was carried out. Not for the first time, Ford cursed his exceedingly good hearing.

To help distract him, Ford was systematically sifting through the _Guide_ to see if his recent experiences could be used to update any of the passages- unlikely, as he'd been blind drunk for most of his recent travels, trying to drown the pain of the break up. This process was continually interrupted by the fact that he kept turning the _Guide_ over to look at the large friendly letters printed on the front. Had he been in a more lucid state of mind, he would have noticed that his fingers were wearing deep groves in the famously dense and impenetrable metal cover.

The book, being an inanimate object, didn't make any protestations about this treatment.

A few more tension oozing minutes ticked agonisingly by as Ford tried to convince himself that he was working. Then his disjointed musings were interrupted by a scream. A very loud, very pained, and above all very familiar scream.

Before he knew what he was doing, Ford had leapt up and was throwing himself against the door of the operating theatre, hammering repeatedly on the hard surface, bellowing to be let in. Inside he could hear Arthur keening his name in a heart-wrenchingly desperate plea.

He yelled the human's name, trying to let Arthur know he was there as he tried to force entrance. He could hear raised, panicked voices from inside the room as he battered at the door. Then suddenly, cold metallic arms were locking themselves around him, restraining him from further damaging the hospital property. The Betelgeusian struggled like a wild animal, shouting hoarsely, desperate to get to Arthur.

The cries abruptly stopped dead. Ford's struggles redoubled as an instinctive rage started to build inside him. Footsteps were echoing through the corridors as doctors and nurses rushed to the operating theatre to assist in what was obviously a life-threatening emergency. Ford was aware of Trillian and Zaphod's voices raised above the white noise filling his skull as he flailed in the robot's grip.

Then he felt a sharp pain in his arm, and the world faded to blackness.

_Sriataer… _

* * *

Oh, evil cliffhanger! I don't know when I'll be able to update, Sixth Form is shaping up to be fun but very work-intensive, and AS-levels take priority over slash (gasp). 


	13. Aftermath

I'm late! But then again, school has once again taken over my life…

But enough of this gay banter. To my lovely reviewers, I thank you and applaud your patience: Captain Oz (WE RULE SUPREME! And I don't even like cricket), Rowana S (hey, 7 is fantastic, my congrats!), LLM (waves like a maniac), Eileen (sorry for the wait), fidget177 (I concur), Mithril Maiden (I didn't want to keep you waiting!), kali maa (I am truly humbled by all of your kind comments, and I'm glad I could corrupt your mind), kears (no, not the puppy eyes!), banana flavoured dragon (look behind you, an invisible David is creeping around!), HurriCanine (Yay, you're back!), authoraisarete (more is here) and The Emcee (thanks…)

Special thanks go to **banana flavoured dragon** and **HurriCanine**, who bravely slogged their way through lots of chapters. I suspect some sort of sick masochism, but I heartily thank them. indecently assaults them

Dedicated to: the lovely **LLM**, and the beautiful **banana flavoured dragon**. Don't tell me I can't alliterate.

Disclaimer: not mine

* * *

_Sriataer…Arthur? Where are you?…What's happening?…_

Agonisingly slowly, Ford's eyes creaked open. He winced as light surged into his vision and tried to blink a few times, with questionable success. What the photon was going on? As far as he could tell, he was horizontal on a flat, yielding surface, surrounded by warmth. The atmosphere smelt bland and unthreatening, and when he dared open his eyes again he got an overwhelming impression of neutrality. Had he died and gone to dentist heaven?

As energy began to build sluggishly in his muscles, he forced himself to push up a little and take in his surroundings. Bed? Check. Walls plus door? Check. Right, he was in a room of some description. He looked down. Clothes? Check. Right, he hadn't slept with anything then. There was a very slight, niggling pain in his arm. He rubbed at it and twisted the limb awkwardly to get a good look. There was a tiny pinprick in his arm. His brow furrowed. Had he been drugged?

He put trembling fingertips to his temples and tried to concentrate, pushing back rising panic and giving his memory a good kicking. He remembered…nurses? Oh Zarquon, please say he hadn't got drunk at some office party with uniformed strippers again… No, there was more. Flashes of worried faces, high-pitched bleeping noises, a strong grip on his arm, an overwhelming sense of _orange_…

The hospital. Dr Fastinslotbarter. Arthur. Oh _Belgium_.

In a trice, Ford was up and running. He yanked the door open and began to race down the corridor, his heart performing some crazy double-time jive in his chest. It took some time for him to realise that he had no idea where the hell he was going. There didn't seem much point in stopping his headlong charge though. He was running on instinct. _Arthur, Arthur, Arthur, ArthurArthurArthurArthurArthurAr..._

He rounded another indistinguishable corner and hit a solid surface with a thud, landing heavily on his backside, cursing. The solid surface gave as good as it got as it turned around to face him. Ford looked up into a neonly familiar face.

"Dr Fastinslotbarter?" Ford exclaimed, jumping up and staggering as the motion sent blood rushing to his brain. Several tentacles reached out to simultaneously steady him, take his pulse and test his forehead.

"Wh-Where's Arthur?" the Betelgeusian asked, extricating himself from the mass of limbs.

The doctor's face was grave, his colour deep and sombre. "If you will follow me, Mr Prefect, I'll explain what happened."

Ford's heart, still vibrating like a claustrophobic in an airing cupboard, sank to hit his stomach with the force of a freight train. Frantic cries filled his ears and a scream echoed through his memory. The doctor took him by the arm and led him through the corridors, his voice lowered to a private level, but still firm and calming.

"The operation commenced perfectly normally. It was a textbook procedure, Mr Dent was happily pain-free and the whole thing was going ahead smoothly. Then, as we prepared to remove the 'womb' created by the drug, there was a…" Fastinslotbarter hesitated.

"What?"

"A mutation of the foetus."

Ford stopped dead. "Mutation?" he repeated, faintly.

The doctor nodded. "Its extremely rare, the only problem that we've ever had with the drug."

"Are they…Arthur, the baby…"

Fastinslotbarter looked grave. "As you probably heard, the problem caused a lot of pain and distress for your partner. We were forced to take steps to relieve this pain as we worked to save the child."

That sudden, terrible silence. Ford felt physically sick.

"You were hysterical, uncontrollable. We had to knock you out I'm afraid. Luckily we were able to continue with the Caesarean with no loss of life. Unfortunately, we have as yet not been able to revive Mr Dent, but his condition is stable."

"And the baby? The mutation…"

The doctor brightened visibly. His skin became a more vibrant colour and a faint smile crossed his face. He stopped and Ford found he was in front of a large window. He turned dumbly to look into a room devoid of life aside from a nurse, some cots and…

"Congratulations, Mr Prefect. You are the proud father of twins. A boy and a girl."

Ford pressed his face to the glass and stared. Two tiny, perfect forms lay next to each other in one of the cots, squirming very slightly in their sleep. The little round faces, peeking out from the blankets and ridiculous hats, had the healthy glow of newborn Betelgeusians and the squidgy pinkness of newborn humans. Ford's throat constricted and he felt an enormous sense of pride as he looked at his children. He put a hand on the glass, unconsciously reaching for them, and held his breath as the baby on the left stirred a little. A rumble began to reverberate in his chest. Twins. He was a father.

A tap on his arm brought him back to the present, and he wiped the stupid grin off his face as he turned to face the doctor. "Arthur?" he asked, fearfully. Fastinslotbarter gestured to the door next to where the babies lay asleep. Ford cast one last look at them, burning the picture into his memory, and took a deep breath. He walked to the door and opened it, entering the room.

The room was just as bland as every hospital room that Ford had ever been in. Next to the single bed sat Zaphod and Trillian, both asleep, the former holding an arm around the latter. Ford's eyes inched to the bed and he gasped in shock, feeling tears sting his eyes. Arthur lay unconscious, his breathing a little too fast, a little too shallow.

Ford hurried to the bed and perched on the edge, taking Arthur's hand in his and stroking an errant hair back from his forehead. The human's skin was pale but warm and the pulse under Ford's fingers was steady. The Betelgeusian heaved a sigh of relief, bringing the hand to his lips to kiss it.

He glanced at Zaphod and Trillian and quirked a quick smile, grateful for their vigil over the human. Ford turned his attention to the form in the bed, feeling that now, maybe he could speak, reason out his actions, beg forgiveness…

"Hey," he began softly, his free hand coming down to rest on Arthur's cheek. "You should see our babies, Arthur. They're so beautiful. I'm so proud of you." Ford choked as his throat suddenly seized up. "Oh, sriataer, I'm so sorry! It was just, all those weeks, the pressure just…I just exploded. I couldn't help it. I'm not used to this responsibility. A life with just a towel as a constant companion is not good preparation for potential parenthood!"

The Betelgeusian forced a strangled laugh. "This feels a bit weird- talking to you without your full attention. Like that time you broke your arm on earth. Remember that? I swear, I nearly killed that van driver…You weren't in hospital for very long, and it didn't take much time for you to start bitching about it and how much of a hassle it was. You have no idea how relieved I was Arthur. I didn't know how much stress the human body could take- some life forms can die from a mild bruise. And even complaining about a broken arm, you still listened to every drunken, stupid thing I said to you. I was surprised you never contacted the authorities to lock me up. I'm sure it crossed your mind once or twice."

Ford cleared his throat. "Man, if you could hear me now…I'd never live this down. Zarquon, Arthur, I don't think I'd mind if you teased me about it for eternity, just as long as you were always there…" The Betelgeusian closed his eyes and let out a broken breath. "Please don't make me do this on my own," he whispered, leaning down and bringing the limp hand up to press against his forehead. "I can't cope without you. I need you sriataer. Our children need you."

The long-repressed tears finally broke free and dripped slowly down Ford's cheeks as he sat there, unmoving. An age seemed to pass.

The suddenly, the hand in his grip twitched, ever so slightly. Ford's head snapped up and he saw Arthur's eyes open millimetre by millimetre. The slack lips tensed and the corners forced themselves upwards in a faint, worn out smile. "I'm still not talking to you," Arthur told his sobbing lover. "But come up here and give me a hug."


	14. Day After the Day Before, or, Tomorrow

Gentle readers, I thank you: kears, HurriCanine ((waves)), authoraisarete, Les Lapins Mauvais ((cuddles)), Eileen, Mithril Maiden, PrincessYaoi, Tomiko the Muse, Captain Oz, kali maa (your dependence scares me…(large grin)), taby42, Rowana S (merci beaucoup), Starr Dust and sunny-historian.

Dedicated to: LLM (you know you're good mates when you abbreviate the penname…) and my Bowie!whore.

Disclaimer: Not mine.

* * *

"Aw! Oojey woojey woo! Hesha wusha wusha wusha. Yesh he ish. Osha wusha!" 

These, and other similar nonsense noises were the only things that could be heard in the little hospital room. Ford, perched on the bed next to Arthur, his arms full of his daughter, rolled his eyes. His reconciled lover was leaning on him, chin on his shoulder, mesmerised by the baby's eyes. On the other side of the room, next to the window, Skoda and Trillian were cooing helplessly over the bewildered form of the other twin. Zaphod had left several hours previously, driven almost insane by the noise.

Ford's favourite mum had arrived the day after the hair-raising operation to find one of her many sons cuddling his human sriataer and purring proudly over his children. She had been more than a little annoyed about not being told sooner (i.e. as soon as Ford knew Arthur had gone into labour), but the annoyance quickly faded when she was given one of the twins to hold.

Arthur shifted away from Ford to stretch, yawning hugely. The wiry-haired Betelgeusian cast him a fond look and returned to the very important task of testing his daughter's grip on his finger. The human sat back against the propped up pillows, feeling an immense sense of satisfaction and pride. Closed his eyes momentarily, trying to convince himself that he really wasn't tired and opened them again to find his son being carefully placed in his arms.

Skoda pottered around to Ford's side of the bed, having finally given the little boy back, and re-commenced the cooing procedure over his sister. Arthur felt somewhat relieved- he'd been afraid that the Betelgeusian mother was planning to nick the baby and hide him in her handbag. He wouldn't put it past Ford's mother. He straightened up a little, tightening his grip to better support the precious bundle in his arms, and gazed down into the enormous blue eyes, unconsciously adjusting the blue towel that was wrapped around the tiny form.

_

* * *

It is a well-known fact that of all items in the Galaxy, the towel is one of the most highly regarded. The 'Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy', in one of its many chapters about towels, says this,_

'_Though it is highly unlikely that a hitchhiker will ever procreate, due to their free spirit, love of adventure and fear of doing any work for a living, there are occasionally times when dedicated hitchhikers decide to "throw in the towel". (note: readers of a nervous disposition should not be distressed by this- it is merely a figure of speech and does not in any way refer to the actual throwing of towels.) _

_On such occasions, when hitchhikers claim parenthood over children instead of abandoning their conquest as soon as the blue line appears, there is an important custom that must be observed. The first item of clothing that ever touches the body of a hitchhiker's spawn is: a towel._

_This practice is believed to imbue the child with the spirit of the no-responsibilities traveller. The myth that has grown around has so greatly affected the hitchhiking community that the ending words of a hitchhiker's funeral are as follows:_

"_From towels he/she/geh came, and unto towels he/she/geh returns. Terry cloth to Terry cloth, wet to dry."'_

* * *

"Have you had any more thoughts about what you're going to call them?" Trillian broke the warm quiet, pulling up a chair for Skoda and going to lean on the metal headboard frame behind Arthur. 

Ford glanced at Arthur, who nodded. He took a deep breath and cleared his throat. "We…erm…we had a long talk about this after we erm…" he trailed off. Arthur nudged him gently, beginning to rock his drowsy son in his arms. Ford cleared his throat again. "We decided to call the boy Ix, after, you know, old times." Skoda's eyes filled with tears and she reached out to squeeze her son's arm.

Seeing that Ford was a little choked up to continue, Arthur took over. "We're calling the girl Gwynefa."

Trillian frowned. "Guinevere?" She grinned, slowly. "Ah, I see…the most beautiful lady in the world and the only woman in King Arthur's life."

Arthur smiled. "And my sister was called Gwyn. My parents had a weird sense of humour."

Skoda raised an eyebrow at her son, who pulled himself together enough to shrug at her. "Humans," he said, by way of explanation. One of aforementioned humans thumped him. The other one stood and pecked the each of the lovers on the cheek.

"I think it's time I was leaving," she said. "I expect you two want some time alone?"

Before either of them could reply, Trillian had grabbed Skoda and was gently but firmly dragging her out the door. Arthur sighed in relief and carefully rose to place the now-sleeping child in the cot that had been thoughtfully moved from the next room to the foot of the bed. Ford followed, their daughter lulled to sleep by the almost constant rumbling from her father's chest. The Betelgeusian wrapped his now-vacant arms around his tall lover, wondering how he'd survived a month without this affection. Wondering when he'd become so dependent on the human.

Said human returned the embrace, pulling Ford close, smiling happily at the tiny bundles. Twenty weeks of stress, screaming, arguments and raunchy make-up sex all seemed so distant now. He felt Ford's hand slip down and under his pyjamas to feel the long white scar left by the operation. Arthur shuddered under the touch and lifted Ford's head with a hand under his chin to press a fierce kiss to his lips.

The Betelgeusian returned the kiss with equal desperation. How long had it been since they'd touched like this, with no misplaced hormones or guilty feelings getting in the way?

When they separated, both were breathing a little faster, their hearts beginning to race. Ford looked up into Arthur's face, his pupils dilated. He grinned his manic grin, the smile getting wider when the human flinched automatically. "Hey baby," he purred, sneaking his hands all the way inside the dressing gown to pull at Arthur's pyjamas. "What say we ditch the sprogs for a bit, hmm?"

Arthur laughed breathlessly, his body happily submitting to Ford's control. "Not yet three days old and you're already abandoning them, poor buggers." He moaned as Ford reached up to kiss him again.

"I don't hear you complaining, oh concerned mother," Ford replied, wickedly against Arthur's lips. Arthur shook his head the tiniest bit and started walking backwards towards the bed, pulling Ford with him as they fell onto the hospital bed.

Ix and Gwynefa slept on peacefully as their parents, ahem, celebrated their reunion. And that, as they say, is that.

* * *

Fear not, gentle readers, there will yet be an epilogue! 


	15. Epilogue

Thank you, lovely readers: Eileen, Captain Oz, HurriCanine, Mithril Maiden, kears, Les Lapins Mauvais, Tomiko the Muse, kali maa and Go-ruben Kiba (x3)

Dedication: LLM and banana flavoured dragon. It was an honour to write for you both.

Disclaimer: Nah-uh. Not mine.

* * *

Random Frequent Flyer Dent was nervous. It was a feeling she wasn't used to.

She felt a light touch on her arm and turned to look into her father's face. He was smiling encouragingly. She scowled at him and returned to glaring out the window. The ship was coming into land. She sighed heavily and picked up her new satchel, which already contained an edition of the _Guide_ and a towel, and rudely pushed past everyone else on board to get to the exit hatch.

Arthur echoed his daughter's sigh and put a restraining hand on Ford's shoulder. The Betelgeusian was growling menacingly at the rapidly moving back of the teenager. "It's not her fault," the human said, gently.

Ford looked askance at him. "_You_ cannot be telling me how to treat that ungrateful little bitch."

"She's taller than you."

"Yeah, but at least _I'm_ nice to you. Occasionally. When it suits me."

The human raised an eyebrow at his lover and stood as the ship finished its final descent. "Come on, we'd better find her before she attacks someone," he remarked, pecking Ford lightly on the cheek as he pulled the shorter man to his feet.

On the surface of Betelgeuse Five, Random paused her unrelenting hatred of the universe and everything in it to admire the eccentric scenery of her father's lover's home planet (she refused to refer to Ford as any sort of parent. Just as well since he wasn't particularly fond of her and only put up with her for Arthur's sake). Arthur, following her, couldn't help but smile at her astonishment. Random had been almost everywhere with her mother, but not many places could top Betelgeuse Five.

He considered explaining some of the features to her, but decided it would probably be a waste of breath and amiability. Instead, he gestured for her to follow he and Ford through the woods to a by-now very familiar house.

Random did as she was told, but kept a few feet back from the couple out of some inner need to be defiant. She studiously pretended to be unaffected by her surroundings, but kept an eye on the wondrous vegetation as she walked. All too soon, they crested a small incline and she found herself looking down into a secluded glade, in the middle of which was a typical Betelgeusian family size bubble dwelling. She glanced at Arthur and, seeing the big stupid smile on his face, followed his gaze down to the front of the big 'house'.

Two small forms looked to be gambolling happily around the big enclosed garden. The two adults set off down the hill as she scrutinised them, and she was quick to bring up the rear. As they neared the edge of the glade, one of the figures happened to look up. It froze, then there came a yell of "THEY'RE BACK!"

The other figure looked up and, simultaneously, they began a headlong dash in the direction of the arriving trio. Random's eyes widened. So these were the twins! They looked to be about twelve years old, but in human years that could mean they were over twenty. The girl was slightly taller than the boy, and they were all the details registered before she flung herself into Arthur's arms with a cry of "Daddy!" The boy threw himself at Ford with a much quieter mewing squeak of glee.

Random stared at her half-siblings. They had the slight build typical to Betelgeusian's but they had the extra height of humans. The girl's wavy brown hair was pulled back into a ponytail but the boy's was left to be as curly and wayward as Ford's. As the girl pulled back a little to kiss each of Arthur's cheeks three times in quick succession, Random saw that, though they had inherited the huge, beautiful eyes of Ford, the colour was the dreamy introspective grey of Arthur with vibrant blue flecks dotting the irises.

Whilst the boy rubbed his cheek into Ford's chest, both purring fit to burst, the girl snuggled back into Arthur's arms, chattering ten to the dozen. Clearly she was the more outgoing twin. Random felt an unpleasant heave of peculiar jealousy roll through the pit of her stomach as she watched the family reunion. It wasn't fair…

The beaming parents each extricated themselves from their enthusiastic children, only to be mobbed by the other twin. The girl muttered "Papa," into Ford's chest, pushing her head under his chin. The boy repeated his catlike nuzzling with Arthur, and Random noticed he had tiny spectacle lenses floating a few millimetres from his eyes.

The girl shifted uncomfortably, wondering why she had been dragged here.

Eventually, the little family separated. Arthur bent down to take the twins' hands and led them to Random, his face positively glowing. The human girl squirmed under their frank stares.

"Ix, Gwynnie, this is your sister, Random."

There was a pause, in which Random felt a strange thankfulness that she hadn't been dubbed 'half-sister.' Gwynefa eyed her up, then winked at her brother. They launched themselves at her, wrapping their arms around her as far as they could and squeezed. "Hi, sis," Ix muttered shyly into her side.

Random dazedly returned their freely-given embrace, feeling a strange warmth filling her from head to toe. Out of the corner of her eyes she saw Ford fling a casual arm around her dad. Something odd clicked inside her and she felt the pleasant sting of blissful tears cloud her eyes.

For here, at last, in the arms of her siblings, she found somewhere she fitted.


	16. Epilogue, Take Two

Damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn

And so on for many many more pages. The inestimable hurricanine reminded me a while back that I never cleared up the mystery of Who Did It? Well, now she knows, but I forgot to tell the rest of you. So, here we have the Epilogue, part 2! (yes, I hate it when writers do this too. For one, makes me feel like a complete arse)

Once again, I owe so much to my readers who reviewed, you are all stunning and lovely and wonderful and without you it simply wouldn't have happened: Mithril Maiden, Rowana S (hope this cheers you up), Captain Oz, Starr Dust, HurriCanine, Tomiko the Muse (never stop the craziness), kali maa, Go-ruden Kiba (it was a grown-up thing, I suppose), Eileen (possibly…), sixtimesnine (who's Tim?), banana flavoured dragon (consider it done), Les Lapins Mauvais, kears (probably not), Ryntha (large grin), taby42, The Emcee and Rasey Wasey Bagel Face.

Dedication: those two buggers whose names I can't be bothered to type (wink)

Disclaimer: they don't belong to me. Ix and Gwynnie and Skoda do, but no one else.

_

* * *

The 'Encyclopaedia Galactica' defines an epilogue as 'a piece of writing coming at the end of a story that effectively ties up any and all mysteries to do with the plot or in some other way satisfies all of the reader's queries'_

_The 'Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy' takes a different approach, stating 'Only particularly thick authors include epilogues, being thoroughly unable to coherently end the story properly. The really really stupid ones sometimes even include MORE than one epilogue, the prats. What kind of utter wazzock would be dim enough to…' and so on._

_Peculiarly enough, the Guide is one of the few books in the Galaxy that, since the publication of this particular statement, actually does contain an epilogue. It says, 'Naff off, you hypocritical bastards.'  
_

_It is unclear why this is so._

* * *

The cafe owner stared at the humanoid female who was leaning on his counter. Although she was only a little taller than the average Betelgeusian, she was grinning a disturbingly familiar lunatic grin and her blue-specked grey eyes were dancing with amusement. Just behind her, with an identical grin, was a humanoid male who was either her clone or her twin. He was nonchalantly performing complex conjuring tricks with a large purple towel. 

The owner cleared his throat. "I'm afraid we don't do 'tea'," he said, uneasily. "But we have an excellent range of caffeinated alcoholic beverages."

The female hitchhiker sighed and pulled her satchel further up on her arm. "Alright, we'll have three jambachinos, a large Alterian whisky and a glass of Hyperactive Lemonade™"

Her twin patted her shoulder. "Never mind, Gwynnie. We'll find tea one day."

They collected their order from the now freaked-out server and carried it to the table where several other humanoids sat. The tallest one, who had a few streaks of grey lining his dark hair, smiled warmly at them and lifted one of the jambachinos off the tray. "Thank you, my dears," he said, softly.

The shorter man sat next to him with an arm around his waist nodded his thanks and took the whisky. "Slange!" he toasted and took a quick sip.

The third and final occupant looked suspiciously at the Hyperactive Lemonade™. "If this tries to eat my stomach like it did last time…" she said, tossing her multitude of black plaits back behind her ears.

Ix sat next to her. "Would we give you something so harmful, dear sister?"

"Yes. In fact, you did. I was sick for a week," Random replied, thumping his arm affectionately.

"We only did it because we care."

"You only did it to see what effects it would have on a human so you could write an entry about it for the Guide!"

Gwynefa took the seat next to her human father as her siblings bickered playfully and placed her head on his shoulder briefly. "Happy fiftieth, Dad," she murmured to him. Arthur kissed the top of her head.

"Thank you, my love," he whispered back. "And thank you for my present. I'm sure your Papa will be highly appreciative."

She chuckled. "I know how much it bothered him that he couldn't sleep on that old mattress. Ix and I both chipped in."

"I should think so too. Bed made entirely of Terry cloth are something of a luxury commodity," Ford chipped in, briefly glancing away from his conversation with Random.

"In this Universe?" Arthur looked askance at him. "With all of these degenerate freeloaders?" He gestured to the twins.

Ix grinned, his eyes sparkling behind his floating spectacle lenses. "Low blow, Dad."

There was a cough from beside the table. All five seated turned to look at the slightly hunched form of a very old man who was stood there. He had grey hair that fell around his shoulders and a huge beard. There was a weary kindness in his ancient eyes and an air of slight sadness permeating the air around him.

"Good God!" Arthur exclaimed, staring at the oldster. "Slartibartfast!"

The Magrathean smiled. "Greetings once again, Earthman." He politely waited until he was gestured to a seat before sitting down.

"So um…erm…Have you met our children?" the oldest human asked weakly. "That's Ix, this is Gwynefa."

The twins waved at the old man, assessing the character from their bedtime stories with frank interest and curiosity. Slartibartfast returned the interest, unabashed. "Well, they seem to have turned out as well as can be expected," he said, after a few minutes of mutual scrutiny.

Ford raised an eyebrow. "Did you know about them?" he asked, tentatively.

"Of course not. Don't be a twerp," Slarti answered, rather brusquely. "So, Earthman, how goes your quest for tea and normality?"

Random gestured at the twins, Ford and the jambachinos. "I'd say it wasn't going all that well," she chuckled, answering the questions for her father. "What brings you here?"

The Magrathean gave her a grave look for a few moments, then nodded as if he'd just worked something out. "Some minor CamTim duties. There's going to be a revolutionary breakthrough in the sacred art of dwarf-slaughtering if we're not careful. And I wanted to catch up with the progress of a personal project of mine."

"Oh yes?" Arthur said, trying to sound interested and not in the least bit disgusted by the dwarf-slaughtering remark.

"Yes, I was researching the compatibility of certain species and their offspring. Anyway, I must be off. Good luck, all of you, in your future endeavours. And I'm glad the lifestyle has come together, Mr Dent. I had hoped for nothing less." With that, the kindly old man was up and gone.

Ford looked after him for a moment and turned to his astonished lover. "You don't think it was him, do you? With the…" he gestured at the twins, who were excitedly discussing the Magrathean out the stories.

Arthur's eyes widened. "No. It couldn't be. Could it?"

The Betelgeusian's gaze dropped to the drink in Arthur's hand then flicked to his own. "Well, just to be on the safe side," he said, nervously pushing both glasses away, "I think we'll skip this round shall we?"

* * *

Thank you and good night. And apologies for the crapness. I am extremely tired and in need of a cuddle.  



End file.
